Allegro
by PhoenixFire Lia
Summary: AU 3x4. A smalltown boy's perils and pitfalls as he explores the hazards of being a high school junior in love with an incredibly hot foreign exchange student. And now he's going on the great bowling date and he's gonna ask Trowa out! Yessuh!
1. Stampede! When Quatre Winner Meets Trowa...

Allegro

Welcome to my school, the Mistake by the Lake. Here there be a fusion with my everyday life, and that of our favorite pilots. You will see action, romance, teenage angst, and the most violent game of musical chairs this side of the Appalachians! So now, let me slap some disclaiming and a warning up, and then head off to class before the vice-principals swoop down and rain detentional doom upon your heads!

Disclaimer: Anything that sounds like I don't own, I don't own.

Warnings (To be read carefully.): AU. High school canon. Shounen-ai and hetero couplings. Self-insertion, but not in a Mary-Sue type role. And a little messing with the time-space continuum. Couplings (Very Important): Primarily 3x4x3. Also, 2x1/2xH, 5xS, 6x9. 

            If ever there was scientific proof that all living creatures, human beings included, displayed a sort of herding instinct, one needed to look no further than the halls of Silver Lake Regional High School. Like Pavlov's dog, the tri-town students were trained to move at the sound of a bell, wandering sheeplike through the vomit-green hallways. Quatre struggled against the tide of acne-riddled adolescent bodies, clutching at his tan messenger bag for all it was worth. If he fell now, he'd be trampled to death under the soles of gum-encrusted Nikes and the thick, eight-inch platforms of perfumed girls who wore far too much mascara and hula hoop sized earrings. 

            The stage-side door to the Little Theatre was mere yards ahead now, sanctuary from this sea of pot smokers and academic dreamers. If he could just get there, he would be safe from this mob. But, as luck would have it, his shoelace decided now was the best time to come loose, and he stepped on it, falling forward onto his face and the pukey greenish brown of the tiled floor. 

            If he'd been one of those beefy football players, there wouldn't have been a problem. But Quatre Raberba Winner, a junior, was five foot five, only weighed about a hundred and ten pounds, and was easily mistaken for a girl. Perfect fodder for the masses as they thundered through the corridor. He couldn't get up, too weighted down by the bookbag that had now wrapped in a stranglehold around his neck. His hands had been stepped on, fingers probably broken beyond use, and so he did what any reasonable person did: hunched up in a ball until a teacher could come and rescue him. 

            "Oh dear God, please don't let me die here," he muttered, trying to stand again. Somebody stepped across his back, probably snapping his spinal cord in half. Suddenly a hand shot out of nowhere, and he gladly accepted the proffered appendage as the small teenager was hauled to his feet like a fish on a line. 

            "Thank you! You honestly saved my life!" Quatre gasped as his savior nearly dragged him into the alcove by the theater door. He glanced up at this miraculous person…and up…and up. It was a teenage boy, junior, possibly senior age, height of something in the ballpark of six one, six two. He was an olive-skinned Adonis with handsome, angular features and a very Romanesque nose, as well as gorgeous cupid's bow lips. His face was half-obscured by a fall of russet hair that cascaded in one sharp-looking bang. The young man's visible eye was an ivy-green, cool and serene. 

            "I have seen the running of the bulls in Pamplona. It was like this," the strange boy replied, his quiet baritone voice olive oil smooth and dark with a thick accent. 

Quatre laughed, extending a battered and bruised hand. "I'm Quatre Winner, by the way."

            "Trowa Barton." He kissed Quatre's knuckles gently. 

Quatre blushed, biting the inside of his cheek. Saved _and _kissed by an absolutely gorgeous student? The girls would be jealous. "Are you a transfer student?"

Trowa nodded. "From Firenze."

            "Florence? Florence, Italy? Wow, I'm impressed. You tame wild teenagers and you're from my fantasy vacation destination. And I've only known you for three minutes."

They walked into the theater together, Trowa revealing that the arts supervisor, Richard Tuttle, had placed him into the upper class Choir Two for his musical talents. Quatre was just glad he had somebody he could hang out with. As 'tenor of a thousand jibes,' he was often the target of teases from the bass section, as well as some of his fellow tenors. 

            "Quatre, we were wondering when you were going to show. Did you stop in the woods for a joint or something?" his best friend and the cruelest of teasing basses, Duo Maxwell, inquired. His ropelike chestnut braid swung about his neck and shoulders like an anaconda. 

            "Nah, stampeded outside Tuttle's office."

Duo nodded sympathetically, though his bright violet eyes glinted with mischief. "Well, your harem's been looking for you. The supers have saved you a place again."

Quatre rolled his eyes, looking over at the wooden blocks that ran across the stage, serving as stairs, chairs, and risers for the forty some-odd teenage girls occupying them. His 'harem,' the lot of girls he'd come to befriend, sat in relatively close distance to one another, and waved at him as his eyes scanned down the rows. 

            There were Hilde and Lia, the self-titled Super Sopranos, for their superiority in upper-octave notes. Lia, a rather short junior with pitch-dark, shoulder length hair and doe-brown eyes, had once made the glib remark that she could probably go higher than an E flat if she really tried. Hilde, petite as well, her black hair so inky it was more or less blue, would make her baby blue eyes sparkle with heavenly fire any time she got close to a B flat, just to show off. They knew him from Latin class and were a couple of teases. 

            "Quatre, get away from the guys, you know you're a soprano. Come on!"

            Beside them were Relena and Dorothy, two very blonde, very talkative second sopranos. Dorothy was a year older than Relena, and had the habit of looking very intimidating by glaring at you with her blue-gray eyes and her forked eyebrows. Honey-blonde Relena was imbued with a diplomatic air, but chased hot track boys just the same. 

            Sally and Nicki tried to distance themselves from these two, but found their efforts fruitless. Somehow the two first altos, one a kindly senior with leonine-gold pigtails, and the other a short junior with chestnut hair to rival Duo's, always ended up near the chattering socialites. 

            "Quatre, come over here and let me take a look at you. You look like you got run down by half the football team," Sally called out, digging in a pocket for a roll of bandage tape. She was trying to get to Harvard Med to be a doctor, and constantly carried some sort of medicinal accoutrement with her at all times. 

            And there was Lu Noin, the second alto. She was a tall, slender senior girl with short, blue-black hair and a sort of militant attitude. Her father was a corporal in the Army, her two older brothers in the Marines and the Air Force. It was usually Noin's self-appointed duty to protect Quatre from the other girls. 

            "Hey Quatre, who're you going to take to homecoming?" Relena called out, chewing idly on one pink-painted nail. 

            "I'm not going. You know I hate dances," he retorted, stealing his already-pilfered choir folder back from Hilde. 

            "You really don't know what you're missing," Lia observed. "Between you and Nicki…the level of your antisocialism is really starting to get depressing."

            "You use too many big words," Nicki grumbled. 

            "No, you're just stupid," Lia corrected, doodling on the back of a rhythm reading paper with the pencil she kept tucked in her choir folder, the eraser worn down to nothing, the point dull. 

            "I wish you'd consider it, Quatre," Dorothy sighed, taking a swig of Gatorade from the bottle sitting innocuously by her foot. "I hate having to go with Alex and Mueller every year, they're so puerile."

            "Latin vocabulary!" Lia and Hilde screamed. Dorothy jumped, glaring at them. 

            "I _hate _when you do that!"

Hilde giggled. "Which is why we do it all the more. Hey Duo, don't forget, it's my turn to go to homecoming with you! Heero got to go last year, so…"

Duo made a face. He was engaged in two on-again off-again relationships, one with Hilde, another with the school's computer god Heero Yuy. Everybody had just given up on keeping track of who was Duo's significant other by now and assumed they were a threesome. 

            "I was hoping you'd be Quatre's pity date and we'd double," Duo replied from across the room, trying to barter a Hostess™ Zebra Cake off of Nichol. 

Quatre sighed in annoyance. "I told you, I'm not going! I don't want to be anybody's pity date!"

Hilde looked offended. "And here I was, trying to be sympathetic and nice to the sad little dateless gay boy. Screw you, Winner."

Sally pouted, reaching over and patting the petite girl's arm. "Well, Wufei refuses to go, so you can be my pity date, Hilde."

            At that moment in time, Miss DePasqua, choir director and the most pathetic excuse for a pianist walked in, carrying a dilapidated cardboard box full of even more dilapidated sheet music. 

            "You should all have your folders and be in your seats by now!" she said, dropping the box with a resounding thud. The fifty some-odd juniors and seniors organized themselves into their voice parts and sat, trying to give off the air of innocence that they'd been sitting there for ten minutes rather than ten seconds. 

Miss DePasqua, a short, dimply blonde woman with far too much energy, leaned over her music stand podium and rifled with the mess of papers scattered on it. 

            "Couple of announcements before we get started. The cast of _Once On This Island _is selling Book Sox, buy them, we need money. Senior District participants, get your checks in as soon as possible, the deadline is Tuesday. And, I'd like to introduce our new addition to Choir Two, this is Trowa Barton, he's from Italy, and he'll be singing with us for the rest of the year. Please make him feel welcome."

Trowa nodded an acknowledgement, sitting beside Quatre on the border between bass and tenor. Several of the girls had uttered a weak greeting or waved. 

            "All right, stand up!"

The students reluctantly got to their feet, going through the various warm-ups almost robotically, the same half dozen scales and syllabic rhythms they'd do every rehearsal. Quatre usually watched the expressions on the girls' faces during these. Noin would purse her lips if they didn't exercise enough in her low register. Nicki and Sally would roll their eyes in a certain way every time the scale would traverse into upper octaves. Dorothy and Relena didn't even warm up, they just chattered. Hilde and Lia would make ridiculous faces whenever Miss DePasqua would approach a high note and then stop before they had the chance to belt it out full-voiced. 

            "Your girlfriends are funny, Katore," Trowa murmured while the bubbly blonde teacher played something far too high for the male voice range. Quatre smiled at the pronunciation of his name. Katore…sounded exotic and sensual the way it was said. 

            "Funny in a pathetic kind of way," he replied. "Take Noin, for example. She's always trying to be better than Zechs…that's that blonde sitting two seats to your right…and he's her boyfriend. And Sally and Hilde can't control their boyfriends. Dorothy and Relena obsess over men like the world would end if they don't have boyfriends. Nicki doesn't care about guys, she had a boyfriend for a while and then he dumped her for this whiny nymphomaniac. And Lia…well, she's a little crazy, and everyone always picks on her because she's the most eligible bachelorette this side of Julie DelGreco, who's really quite sad, and everyone says Lia's a lesbian since she's always stuck going to dances with other girls. But she assures me she's happily hetero."

            "Ah. My sister Catherine is like that. She takes trips to Napoli and Sicilia every now and then to see if there are any men stupid enough to want to date her."

Quatre chuckled. "Sisters, now there's a subject. I have _five _older sisters who're always picking on me because I'm the baby of the family."

            Miss DePasqua struck a chord and instructed her pupils to shut up and take out a certain piece of music they were working on. As she began plunking her way through the introduction she informed them that they had less than a month until their fall choral concert, so they'd better damn well pay attention for the next couple of rehearsals if they were ever going to finish their music in time. She was especially concerned about an a cappella piece they were working on, an extremely difficult classical work that was only about halfway learned. Trowa flipped through the book and smiled slightly. 

            "What?" Quatre hissed as their teacher worked with the sopranos and altos on their two-part harmony. 

            "I know this song. We did it in our madrigal choir at home."

Duo slugged him on the shoulder. "Damn, that's some luck!"

Choir trudged on slowly, the period full of wrong notes and repeating the same six measures over and over again, until the rhythms were almost too perfect. Some days Quatre loved choir, for he was a very music-oriented person. This was one of those other days, when he loathed the tedium and the repetition. He glanced up at one point and saw Lia hunched over her folder, drawing again with her sad little pencil. He wished that Miss DePasqua had been absent, since substitutes were rare to come by and they would've ended up with a free period, then he could've continued his conversation with Trowa. He was dead certain that he was infatuated with the handsome Italian, the first real, solid crush he'd ever had on anyone; the kind of crush that makes one squirm in their seat as illicit fantasies cavort in their head. Finally, after the agony of singing "Yankee Doodle" a minimum of six times, the period was over, and the sixty upperclassmen were free for the last five minutes while they waited for final announcements and last bell. 

"God, if I never sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic again, it'll be too soon!" Duo groaned, cracking his knuckles as he tossed his folder in the metal bookcase, standing in a shaded corner of the stage. Quatre sighed, slipping his own black folder alongside Duo's. 

"Unfortunately, we have another three weeks of rehearsal until the concert," he pointed out. 

"Shut up!"

The girls were standing around, busying themselves with their backpacks and complaining about the homework they had to endure. Trowa stood by the piano, idly sifting through the piles of music that lay scattered about. Quatre shouldered his messenger bag and trudged over, sitting on the bench and tapping several of the worn keys, the imitation ivory cracked from time. 

            "So what'd you think of choir?" 

Trowa shrugged, glancing over at Quatre. "The teacher…she's strange."

Duo bounced over, throwing an arm around Quatre. "Yeah, well that's what you get here at Saliva Lake! The crappiest school on the South Shore and crazy les-bean chorus teachers!"

            "Les-bean?" Trowa repeated, his visible eyebrow arching. 

            "Lesbian," Quatre corrected, jabbing Duo with an elbow. "Get off of me, you have a girlfriend and a boyfriend, you don't need me to cling to as well."

The shrill final bell rang, and the students raced out of the auditorium in a torrent of bodies. Sally and Noin were practically dragging Lia away bodily, the smaller girl protesting. 

            "Let go! I'm going, I'm going! I _know _we have a National Honors Society meeting, you don't have to drag me!" 

Hilde and Duo walked off somewhere, probably to skulk about the locker rooms, waiting for Heero, star runner for the cross-country team. Quatre hated the locker rooms, with their noisome stench of unwashed uniforms and sweaty bodies. He waved a hasty farewell to his friends and trudged off to the buses, dubbed the 'loser cruisers' by all who lacked the freedom of their drivers' licenses. Not that it mattered, anyway, as Silver Lake had a strict seniors-only parking limitation. 

~^*^~

            Quatre lived in a decently sized house in Plympton, with a fairly mediocre view of Silver Lake, which was really just a glorified reservoir. Plympton was the smallest town of the district, mostly farms, though how anyone could farm anything in such rocky New England soil was beyond him. Most people just kept horses, or llamas. If he had his way, their spacious backyard could've been a camel farm, just for his own personal amusement. There were emus, llamas, and horses in Plympton, why not camels as well? He stepped off the bus and walked the three feet to his mailbox, dug around for the collection of electric bills and Filenes' coupons, and plodded methodically up the driveway, sneaker-shod feet crunching acorns as he went. 

            "I'm home!" he called out, dropping the mail on the counter and his bag on the floor of the dining room. A young Siamese cat with eyes almost the same shade of aqua as his own minced into the room, immediately demanding attention.

            "Hello, Sandrock. Looks like you're the only one around to greet me, eh?"

Suddenly something small and brown dive-bombed his head, zipping around the corner. A group of shrieks resounded as five blonde women charged down the hall, brooms and fishpond nets in hand. 

            "Did you see it? Which way did it go?" they jabbered at once. Shaken, Quatre pointed to the alcove the foreign object had disappeared to. The five women, his elder sisters, let out battle cries and rushed into the corner, flailing their nets and screaming. Iria, middle sister, uttered a hoarse holler. "Got it!" 

The girls ran for the door, sending a tiny brown sparrow into the cool autumn air. Quatre regarded the girls with confusion, staring at his imbecilic relations with their sweatshirt hoods pulled tight over their heads and their weapons held in threatening poses. 

            "I don't even _want _to know what I missed."

Iria shrugged, pulling off her hood. "Madiha took that spider plant in off of the porch. Guess there was a bird living in it."

Madiha, eldest of the Winner sisters, grinned wickedly. "Kali damn near had a heart attack."

            "Well, you would've too if something flew at your head in the middle of _Passions! _Fricking bird attacked me just as Miguel was about to kiss Kaye!"

Clio chuckled at Kali as she rummaged in the refrigerator for a can of Coke, while Amyra broke open a tin of cookies, which were actually chunks of fried pita bread coated liberally with sugar. 

            "So how was school, favorite brother?" Clio asked, taking a long sip of soda. 

He shrugged, taking a handful of the crunchy pita cookies for himself. His sisters, all of them college age or slightly older, had made no indication of wishing to leave home any time soon. They worked for their father while they were earning their degrees, and he had no desire to get rid of them any time soon, since they were the ones who maintained the house and cooked. Their mother had died from complications after Quatre's birth, and so they'd all taken it upon themselves to stay nearby, so that they could be there for their baby brother. 

            "Fine, I guess. I got trampled, there's a wicked hot Italian student in my choir, the girls tried convincing me I needed to go to homecoming. You know, the usual."

Amyra raised a delicate blonde eyebrow. "Hot Italian student? Do tell."

            "His name's Trowa Barton, and I swear, you'd all die if you saw him. He's _gorgeous_! Tall, and dark, and he's got these green eyes…" Quatre gushed, waving a piece of pita emphatically. 

Madiha frowned. "You know, it's still pretty creepy hearing you spout sonnets about guys."

Iria swatted her absently. "Oh, shut up. Quatre's gay, deal with it. You're just still bitter because you lost the betting pool."

Quatre glared at his sisters, remembering how they'd all placed bets on his sexuality, and then made him take a _Cosmopolitan _test to determine it. Madiha had been the lone "hetero" vote, though Amyra had originally said "hetero" and changed her mind after one question. 

            "So…if _he _asked you to homecoming, would you go?" Kali asked, snatching a pita from Clio's fingers and popping it into her mouth before her sister could retrieve it. 

Quatre shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe. I'm going up to do my homework, and maybe take a nap."

            "You feeling all right, Quatre? You've been napping an awful lot lately," Clio pointed out. 

            "I don't have mono, if that's what you're asking."

The five young women giggled. "Kissing disease!"

Quatre rolled his eyes, retrieving his necessary books and binders. "Honestly, you guys are worse than the girls my age sometimes."

            "We know!"

~^*^~

_And thus ends the first chapter. All names, places, and most events are real, true to life stuff completely one hundred percent not fudged. For now. Things may get fudgy as we progress, considering this is a story about a homosexual teenage Gundam pilot, where the author is a heterosexual teenage girl who can't even drive a car. _

_Next Chapter: Quatre learns that Latin Club is a very dangerous thing indeed. _


	2. Fructus! Quatre Understands the Meaning ...

_About time I put up another chapter, ne? But before we get to the good stuff, I best inform you, the readers, that Quatre's sisters are of my own creation. Any resemblance to other authors' Winner sisters is purely coincidence. So no, I did _not _rip off Lady Bast, she and I have had this discussion already. Standard warnings and disclaimers apply. Anything that looks like I don't own, I don't own, and Quatre is still gay. There. Get on now, go read. I'll see you at the end of the chapter. _

The next day seemed to drag on painfully for Quatre. Not only was it his least favorite classes one right after the other, but he'd been coerced into staying after for a Latin Club meeting as well. The girls had promised it would be worth his while, but as the end of the regular day drew closer, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Now he sat in his Classical Cultures class, idly scribbling on a piece of paper while listening to his teacher prattle on about the connections between Greek mythology and _Star Wars _and how Obi Wan Kenobi was trying to lead Luke Skywalker to patricide and incest, paralleling the story of Oedipus. He was just hoping to get to the lightsaber battle before class ended for the day. 

            "Please excuse this interruption, I have several announcements before we ring the bell," the intercom blared, the nasal voice of the office secretary making everyone cringe as they pushed their desks back into the correct rows. "Boys' JV soccer practice will be at two-thirty at the junior high. The bus leaves from the new portable parking lot immediately following the bell…"

Quatre wasn't paying attention to the announcements; he really had no need to. He was busy trying to fish a cough drop out of some obscure pocket of his backpack, his throat starting to throb slightly. Of all the times to get sick, he mused, when we have a test coming up in pre-calc. 

            Finally the secretary finished her prattle and rang the dismissal bell, letting the students once again swarm out into the crowded hallways. Quatre pushed against the surging tide, hoping to make it to the practically hidden staircase at the end of the hall, a shortcut to the portable building where the meeting was being held. He darted down the stairs, out the door, and smack into Sally Po, who was in the process of opening the door to the portables. 

            "Oh, sorry about that, Quatre!" she said, moving aside. "Wasn't watching where I was going, as usual. Ms. Woodhouse wanted me to run down to the cafeteria and get the drinks out of the fridge."

            "It's all right," he replied, rubbing his forehead. "See you in a few minutes?"

            "Yeah!"

He hurried down the hallway into the Latin room, dropping his bag and agenda down under the desk beside the one Lia was sitting atop, a plastic laurel wreath twined in her hair. 

            "What _are _you doing?" he asked. She bent over backwards, grinning at him upside-down. 

            "Being a goddess," the brunette answered simply. "Heard a rumor today you might be interested in."

Quatre raised an eyebrow as Lia sat up straight, swinging her legs on the desk edge. 

            "Your Italian friend might be transferring into our class as soon as tomorrow."

Hilde walked in with a bag of chips, dropping it onto another desk. "Oh, we talking about that wicked hot new guy in choir? Man, if somebody doesn't snag him, I just might!"

            "Don't get your hopes up, Hilde," Lia chided. "He could be gay, you know all the good ones usually are. Just look at Quatre."

He pouted at that comment. "Hey!"

            Ms. Woodhouse called the meeting to order not long after that. There were only a handful of students present, but they all seemed enthusiastic enough about participating. Plans were set into motion for a Latin Halloween bash, and food was passed around. 

            "All righty then, what do you all say to a game of Fructus?" the petite, white-haired woman asked, narrowing her eyes mischievously. 

            "What's that?" Quatre queried hesitantly, following his two female companions out into the hallway, where a circle of chairs was in the process of being set up. 

Hilde grinned viciously. "The most violent game of musical chairs you will ever play, my young friend. I hope you've got some pretty hefty insurance, 'cause I take no prisoners. Right, Lia?"

            "Yeah, I'm still bruised from the last time we played," she replied, rubbing her arm. 

The rules seemed simple enough; everyone was assigned a fruit (in Latin, of course), and they all sat in the chairs in the circle, there always being one chair less than people playing. The person in the center, Ms. Woodhouse in this case, had the choice of calling out either a fruit, which sent those deemed 'apple' or 'pear' scrambling for a new seat in hopes of not being the odd man out, or fructus, which sent everyone running. Quatre didn't understand how the game could be so violent until he watched it in action. Hilde, a grape, had practically plowed a sophomore down to get a chair. Lia nearly missed the chair completely, almost going right over the top of it. 

            "Fructus!" the current middleman shouted, and Quatre was on his feet, racing for an open chair. He was almost to safety when he tripped on someone's untied shoelace and went flying, hitting the side of his head on the lip of the chair with a hollow crack. He fell to the floor, reeling, and the game was paused. 

            "You all right, Quatre?" Ms. Woodhouse asked, helping the junior up. Quatre touched his temple, feeling something wet slide down it. His fingertips were red and sticky. 

            "I'm bleeding," he murmured before promptly passing out.

~^*^~

            "I'm telling you, he doesn't have a concussion, and he doesn't need to be ambulanced out of here!" a shrill voice declared at the edge of Quatre's subconscious as he woke. He smelled sterility, felt the cushion under his aching head and the cotton and synthetics of a large butterfly bandage plastered to his forehead. 

            "He hit his head and passed out, that's what happens when you get a concussion," a more mature voice replied. 

A third piped up. "Quatre's afraid of blood."

Upon hearing his name, the blonde boy made an attempt to sit up, but the school nurse forced him back down onto the leather cot. 

            "Sorry hon, but you've got to stay put. Don't want to make your concussion worse."

            "He doesn't have a concussion!" Hilde repeated. "He only whacked his head a little bit, huh Q?"

Sally nodded, ruffling his hair. "Quatre's always had a blood phobia. Can't stand the sight of it."

            "Yeah," he added blearily. "I was bleeding after I hit my head on the chair, passed out from the blood. Otherwise, I would've just gotten back up. Hey…how did I get into the nurse's office?"

            "Memory loss!" the nurse cried. "It's a concussion!"

Hilde glowered. "Oh, go type up whooping cough memos, it's not a concussion."

Lia stepped forward, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the bandage on his head. "Ouch, that's going to leave a mark. You were carried here, Quatre. Somebody was nice enough to pick your skinny ass up off the floor."

            "Who was it? Do you know? I should go thank them!" he exclaimed, trying once again to get up, and again thwarted by the overcautious nurse. 

            "Sure I know, it was…"

            "Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the wrench!" Hilde cried. 

Sally hit her over the head with a digital thermometer. "Close, but no. It was that hot Italian boy from choir."

Quatre squeaked. "Trowa?"

            As if by command, the dark-haired boy appeared, leaning over the cot, face grim with concern. Quatre felt his insides shudder with a rush of emotion. 

            "How is your head, Katore? Better?" he asked quietly. 

Quatre rubbed the bandaged cut, nodding slightly. "A little, yes. Thank you for helping me, I don't like the sight of blood very much."

Trowa chuckled. "Neither does my sister."

            "Come on, I'll give you a ride home, Quatre. Don't want you standing out in the cold waiting for the Loser Cruiser in your condition," Lia offered, swinging her keys around on her index finger. It wasn't like her car was any better than the school late bus, it was a white 1987 Toyota pickup that had seen far better days, but it was a car nonetheless. 

~^*^~

            Quatre shivered in the passenger side of the pickup, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. The cab smelled of old vanilla cardboard air fresheners, faded glow-in-the-dark WBCN bumper stickers in the compartment under the radio, the floor mats practically chewed away. The little white pickup bounced and rattled down the road, the petite Lia just barely visible over the steering wheel. There was no working heat and the gas gauge was broken, unreadable. 

            "You doing all right, Quatre? I would've driven down to Evanswood and gotten the van from Mom, but I didn't think she'd appreciate coming out of work and finding her car missing," the brunette girl said, adjusting her rearview mirror yet again. 

            "Oh, it's fine. Thanks for driving me home, it really sucks not having my license."

            "Yeah. So…what do you think about that Italian boy? Isn't he wicked hot?"

            "I saw him first, hands off," Quatre snapped defensively, glaring. 

Lia chuckled, turning onto Quatre's street. "Little slut, already trying to make your move on him. You best hope he's gay, or you'll be shit out of luck."

He frowned. "When am I not shit out of luck?"

            "Never, just like me. Hey, I was thinking about heading up to the Plaza this weekend to do a little homecoming shopping. You up to coming along?"

            "Lia, I told you, I don't want to go to homecoming. It's a stupid, bigoted tradition all about being part of this great heterosexual conspiracy to play happy families."

She laughed, pulling into his driveway and shutting off the engine. "Now that's a good one. I just wanted somebody with decent taste to give me their honest opinion, which would be you, my adorable little friend. I have no intentions on roping you into homecoming, as much as I pretend to in front of the other girls. Let me know if you're up to it, kay?"

Quatre nodded, hopping out of the truck. "Kay. Thanks again, Lia. See you tomorrow."

            "Right!"

            He ambled up the front porch, shouldering the door open. Sandrock sat patiently on the doormat, licking her paws. Quatre stroked her sandy-colored head and stepped in, dropping his bag in the corner. A note taped to the microwave announced that all five Winner sisters were out working, and that there was a crock-pot of curry that needed to be turned off, which he did. 

            "What do you think, Sandrock? You think I stand a chance with Trowa? Or do you think he's straight?"

The cat let out a petulant mewl, staring crossly at her owner, as though she were scolding him for having the audacity to ask such a question. Quatre sighed, grabbing a bottle of lemon-flavored Fruit2O from the refrigerator and flopping onto the couch in the next room. The Siamese followed him, curling up on his feet. 

            "Yeah, I think so too, my Sandrock. I think so too."

~^*^~

            _I've never gotten a concussion or near-concussion playing Fructus, but there is the possibility of getting injured. Do not attempt without proper supervision and safety equipment. _

_Next Chapter: More Trowa, fun in gym with Heero and Wufei, and the Winner sisters play fashion consultant with their baby bro. See you then!_


	3. Crisis! Quatre Gets Asked Out: Sort Of

            _Hello again! Sorry this took so long, I've been working on my website a lot lately. And sleeping. And stuff like that. Anyway, for a belated Christmas present you get a nice long chapter this time around. Mm, long chapter._

_Disclaimer: I'm an unemployed teenager with maybe ninety-seven cents in her wallet. I own nothing. And all Winner sisters are my creation…except for Iria because she's real. _

_Quickie Recap: For those of you just tuning in, Quatre's been trampled, concussed, and asked to homecoming a minimum of three times already. And he's still gay._

Latin class was always amusing, especially considering that the Roman poets were dirty perverts, trying to weasel as many esoteric sexual allusions into their writing as humanly possible. And it didn't help that one of the senior boys, Trant Clark, would whoop and holler every time something sexual came up in a poem. Quatre sighed heavily, setting his bag down under his desk and sliding into the glossy faux wood seat bolted to the desk. His fingers twined in his bangs as he leaned forward on his elbows, staring blankly down at the desktop. A peanut butter cup slid past his arms, into his line of sight, and he glanced up at Hilde.

            "You look down, thought you could a little pick-me-up peanut butter cup."

Sally leaned over her desk, grinning viciously. "That sounds like a bad rendition of 'Build Me Up, Buttercup,' in the making. What's the matter, Q? Don't tell me you're coming down with The Whoop."

The Whoop, otherwise known as whooping cough, was already slowly starting to spread through the halls of Silver Lake. Students would groan in revulsion whenever an office runner appeared with an official note from the nurse's office, but usually made light of the pertussis epidemic that inevitably broke out. 

            "I don't have whooping cough, I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night, not after my sisters coming home from whatever nightclub they were at until three in the morning. You haven't seen shit-faced until you see the Winner Five hit the bars of Boston."

Hilde stroked his head sympathetically. "Poor little Quatre. We'll make it up to you. How about another game of Fructus to make you feel better?"

            "Hilde Deuseldorf Schbeiker, that was cruel!" Lia scolded, dropping her bag under her desk with a mighty thud. Trant quirked an eyebrow from where he was sitting. 

            "What kind of a middle name is 'Deuseldorf'?"

Hilde glared bullets at him. "Bite me, Clark. It's my mother's maiden name."

Quatre shook his head miserably. "It's going to be one of those days, I know it now. Just toss me off of the roof already and get it over with. By the way, if I manage to survive, I'd be willing to take you up on your offer, Lia."

            "Cool," the brunette said, rummaging around for her Latin-to-English dictionary. "I'll pick you up around ten Saturday morning. Traffic shouldn't be too bad, and we can grab some food while we're up there."

Ms. Woodhouse and her young ward Mr. Welton arrived just then, the latter carrying a manila folder full of photocopies. The students groaned in revulsion at the sight of more lines to translate, for they were already growing sick of the reviled Ovid. 

            "Salvete, discipuli. Quid est hodie?" 

The students all stared at the petite white-haired woman blankly. "Salve, Magistra. Hodie est…um…Thursday."

She chuckled and waved them off good-humoredly. "Right, well, let's hope the AP Exams don't ask for the days of the week, or you'll be in big trouble. How was the homework last night, any trouble?"

            "It was the pipe simile," Lia groused. "I thought I'd seen the last of it with McCarthy, but no. We get to run Pyramus through all over again."

Mrs. Woodhouse laughed. "So then I take it there was no trouble, hm?"

The small Latin teacher had just sat down at her overhead machine, black marker and transparencies in hand, when a knock resounded on the door. Sally's eyebrows shot up. 

            "Toys from Mr. Bloomquist?" she asked excitedly. Sally had a habit of calling any official National Honors Society business 'toys,' and got rather excited whenever someone came knocking. Instead, it was a certain tall, slender youth, staring into the room with the same panic as a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming Dodge Durango, his yellow guidance pass clamped firmly in his olive fingers. 

            "Oh yes, I almost forgot you were coming today. Kids, this is Trowa, he's moving up from Latin Three to Latin Four, so he'll be studying with us from now on. Trowa, you're from where?" Mrs. Woodhouse asked, getting up to usher her newest acquisition in. 

            "Italy," he said softly. His eyes, though mostly shrouded by his russet hair, darted around the room, trying to find a familiar face. His gaze fell along the back wall, where the two sopranos were sitting beside each other, with Quatre on the end. 

            "Quatre, is that desk next to you empty?" 

He nodded, picking up the agenda he'd placed on it. "Yes, it is, Mrs. Woodhouse."

She pointed Trowa in the proper direction, handing him a book of Ovid poems, another of Catullus' works, and a dictionary. "Have a seat next to Quatre, we're just going over Pyramus and Thisbe right now."

            "This is the third day, Katore. That's luck in Italy," Trowa muttered, flipping the Ovid book open to the passage they were working on. The blonde boy blushed, trying to hide behind his massive blue binder. 

            Quatre found it painfully difficult to pay attention to his teacher for the seventy-two minutes that remained in the period, especially considering the fact that the young man he had a crush on was sitting beside him. Trowa had been asked to translate a portion of the poem on the spot and he had, though he'd answered in Italian. The twenty or so students burst into peals of laughter, and even Quatre had to giggle behind his hand. Trowa, however, had the deer in the headlights look again for a few moments, until he'd realized what was so funny. He said nothing else for the rest of the class. 

            "It's no big deal, Trowa, you don't have to get all tight-lipped on us," Hilde stated as the students mingled, waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. "Shit like that happens all the time at the Mistake by the Lake."

Sally nodded. "My boyfriend Wufei once fell asleep in class. When the teacher called on him to read, he read an entire page of _Julius Caesar _in Mandarin Chinese."

            "Don't forget, Quatre. Ten," Lia stated as the bell shrieked, the teenagers spewing out into the halls from the tiny doorframes. 

            "Ten, right! See you later!" he repeated. "And you too, Trowa."

~^*^~

            Quatre found his gym class to be painfully boring. The teacher in charge of the archery unit was absent, and there was no substitute. All of the students in the archery unit were forced to sit in the balcony weight room and watch Tae-Bo tapes while a doddering old teacher kept his eye on them. He sighed, pulling a piece of white lined paper out of a binder, scribbling on the page absently. 

            "Doing anything interesting?" a quiet voice asked from beside him. Quatre glanced up, into the midnight blue eyes of Heero Yuy, Silver Lake's track all-star and god of all things audio, visual, and technical. 

            "No, not really. I thought you'd be in the corner meditating with Wufei."

Heero shrugged, his gaze going to the Chinese young man sitting in the lotus position on one of the grubby gym mats. "I have no desire to meditate with Wufei. Besides, he'd probably hedge me into some discussion on politics while still meditating."

            "Right." 

            "You meet the kid from Italy yet? Had him in my physics class yesterday. Seems nice, quiet, but nice," Heero remarked. 

Wufei opened one almond eye. "Quiet? The pot seems to be calling the kettle black, Yuy."

            "Go back to meditating, Wufei. This conversation does not concern you."

Now the Chinese boy rose, stretched, and joined his Japanese and Arabian counterparts. "Not concern me? When we are discussing the shiny-new transfer student, who has been the buzz of conversation between my girlfriend and her girl-friends?" 

Wufei made sure to make a clear distinction between his significant other and her friends, so as not to give the impression that Sally had lesbian tendencies. 

            "No, it does not concern you," Heero repeated. "This is talk that is beyond your ken, Wufei."

            "Oh what, are we having a gay moment here? Then I guess I'll just have to leave. See you later, Will, Jack." Wufei walked off to sulk over by the balcony, watching the girls below doing yoga on some tired-looking blue mats.

Heero rolled his eyes. "Chikushoume. Nan dai oh."

Quatre pouted, crumpling up his piece of paper and lobbing it at the wastebasket. It missed. 

            "Heero, the only Japanese I understand is 'Domo Arigato, Mister Roboto.' If you're going to curse Wufei, do it in something I can snicker at."

            "He's just a pain in the ass is all. Back to more important matters…do you like the Italian?" Heero asked in all seriousness, as if Quatre's life would hinge on the answer of the one question. 

            "Well yeah, Trowa's a very nice guy and I'm glad I'm friends with him…or starting to be friends with him. I don't know if saving me from stampeding underclassmen and concussions counts for friendship."

The Japanese boy's blue eyes narrowed. "Don't hedge. You know what I mean."

Quatre blushed the same color as the mulberry stretch warm-up pants he was wearing. They were really magenta velour girls' pants, hand-me-downs of his sisters, but they were comfortable and that was all he cared. "Uh-huh. I think he's wicked sweet."

            "You should ask him out, then. Even if he's straight, make it sound like it's just some casual hangout and get to know him. It's how I met Duo."

            "I thought you met Duo because he tried out for track and got his braid stuck in the bolts of one of the hurdles and Mr. Darche made you go untangle him."

Heero chuckled. "That was how I _met _Duo. I _got to know _him over pizza and a Star Wars movie three days later."

~^*^~

            The bell rang not long after that, and Quatre was headed for lunch, which preempted the first half hour of choir. He usually brown-bagged whatever was in the refrigerator, and plopped himself down in one of the blue cafeteria chairs at the nearest table without much thought. Everyone else tended to gravitate towards him as they filtered in. 

            "Hello, Katore. Is someone sitting there?" Trowa asked quietly, almost causing Quatre to choke on his hummus and pita bread. 

            "Trowa!" he coughed. "Ah, no, no, it's free. Duo and the girls will be along shortly, I think…"

He thought wrong. Duo spotted Trowa approaching Quatre and herded everyone else to a different table, so the two could have the table to themselves. Duo prided himself on being a first-class matchmaker, and saw this as the opportunity of a lifetime. Get Quatre a boyfriend, and he'd be willing to go to homecoming and see what an idiot he'd been for missing it the past two years. 

            "So, um, you met my friend Heero in physics yesterday?" Quatre asked, tossing the rest of his half-eaten pita back in its Ziploc bag and nervously unpeeling a Clementine. Trowa nodded. 

            "He doesn't talk much. He seems very dark and mysterious…is this supposed to be spaghetti?" he asked, poking the gelatinous lump of something that vaguely resembled noodles in a primavera sauce. "You Americans are so…so…"

            "Deprived?" Quatre offered. "I know. My sisters seem to think that all Italian food is pizza. They're not the brightest of the bright, I'm afraid."

Trowa attempted laughing while drinking Gatorade, the blue kind, and nearly choked. Quatre tried his best not to laugh at his green-eyed companion, but the both of them could not help but dissolve into laughter. 

            "If you are not doing much Sunday, you could come for lunch," Trowa offered after he'd sufficiently calmed down enough to speak and the coughing had subsided. "I can show you what _real _Italian food is like, Katore."

Quatre's grin outshone the fluorescent lights overhead. "Sure! I'd love to!"

            "I will see you at one on Sunday then."

They chatted amicably for the remainder of lunch, though Quatre's racing heartbeat and the fuzz in his lightened head made it hard to hear. It turned out that Trowa had similar tastes in music and was a closet anime obsessive. He almost regretted that lunch was coming to an end, since there would be no time to talk in choir. 

            "So, what happened?" Duo whispered in his ear as the both of them made their way towards the huge trash bins at the front of the cafeteria, the remainders of their lunches in hand. 

            "I'm having lunch with him on Sunday. Oh God, Duo, I'm so nervous!" 

The violet-eyed boy shrugged, grinning. "Eh, it's no big deal. You're a great kid, and he's a nice guy. You'll be fine."

He didn't feel very comforted by Duo's reassurance, and fretted about his plans all through choir and into English, until Mr. Rizzitano called him a space case and told him to focus more on Hester Prynne's situation than his "hot date with Alice Legs." Quatre didn't have the heart to tell him that his date was with "Johnny Football" instead. 

            _"My sisters had better help me. Otherwise, I'm doomed," _he thought grimly, doodling a little picture of Inu-Yasha in the corner of his notes.

~^*^~

            "Amyra, Madiha, Clio, Kali, Iria! Emergency! Come here now!" Quatre shouted as soon as he got in the door. Sandrock was the only one to greet him, winding her furry body around his ankles. Kali and Madiha stumbled into the kitchen, looking positively wretched, the result of far too much partying and getting themselves completely shit-faced.

            "Quatre, we're hung over. D'ya mind shutting up?" Madiha groaned. 

He shook his head. "It's an _emergency," _he repeated. "I have a _date _on Sunday and I don't know what to wear. It's been driving me nuts all day!"

Kali seemed to perk up at the news, looking less like an MBTA Red Line train was zipping around in her skull. "Quatre, a date? Are you serious? Who'd you have to pay?"

            "No pay…and it's not really a date, per se. My friend Trowa…the really hot transfer student from Florence…yeah, he invited me over for lunch on Sunday. He said his foster family was going out for the day and he wasn't too keen on staying by himself and we were talking about Italian food…so he asked me over for lunch and to watch some movies and stuff. How am I supposed to dress for this?"

The two Winner sisters sober enough to respond to his plea leaned over for a huddle. After several minutes of whispered deliberations, Madiha had her answer. 

            "I'm going to talk to Clio and the others and get back to you…after a nap and I sober up a little…maybe…oh God, I think I'm going to puke."

Quatre sighed. "I knew no good could come from Disco Wednesdays."

            Iria found him about a half hour later struggling over trigonometric ratios, eating a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzel ice cream and absently tossing a crocheted ball across the kitchen floor for Sandrock. Out of the five sisters, she was probably the most sober at the time. 

            "Hi," she mumbled, sitting down on one of the bar stools. "Mads and Kali told us about your date. So what'd you have in mind? Casual or sexy beyond the belief of every hormonal teenage homosexual male this side of Gloucester?"

He glanced up from his pre-calculus and ice cream and shrugged. "Is there a way for both?"

Iria pouted. "Dunno. Hang on a sec." She got up from the stool, lumbered over to the doorway that led towards the media room where the rest of the sorority was sprawled. 

            "Can we have both casual and sexy love bunny?" she bellowed. 

Clio hollered back, "Sure! Do like a leather pants and a TV shirt from Hot Topic combo or something!"

            "I don't have any of that!" Quatre pointed out. "I dress like I'm some sort of Brady Bunch refugee, you know that!" 

Kali piped up this time. "You're going shopping Saturday, just buy it all then!"

Quatre nodded, thanking his sisters for helping him in their "weakened and ill" conditions, while they in turn grunted their replies and returned to being hopelessly hung over. He sighed loudly, watching Sandrock chase a ladybug across the kitchen floor. 

            "I hope this works out. God, please let him be gay. Or at the very least, bi. I'm starting to feel very lonely, and to tell you the truth, if he asked me, I'd go to homecoming in a heartbeat. Please, please God?"

God didn't make any indication that He was willing to answer the prayers of one small boy, but Quatre wasn't going to give up hope any time soon. His father was a firm believer in the 'things happen for a reason' philosophy, and he shared his father's views. Perhaps it was a sign that this wonderful young man should walk into his life and never seem to leave. 

            "Please…"

~^*^~

_Disco Wednesdays, gotta watch out for them. Oh, I didn't mention it last chapter so I will now. I can't drive, so any driving Lia may do in this fanfic is completely flubbed. And this chapter, well, I never got to go eat Italian with any hot transfer students, but the quotes from Anthony "Thunder" Rizzitano are completely true._

_Next Chapter: Shopping fun with Lia! But waitaminute, why's her sister in the car too?_


	4. Charge! Quatre's Shopping Nightmare

_It's been a while, hasn't it? And I sincerely apologize for taking so long. My life has been more than hectic lately, and I just found time to sit down and write this chapter. So without much further ado, I'm just going to toss it at you. Enjoy, and please comment or review or whatever. I like reading your feedback._

_Last time: Quatre's sisters got shit-faced, Heero and Wufei exchanged words (some of which Quatre couldn't understand), and we've been invited to Trowa's for lunch. Oh my…_

Saturday morning dawned on the clear, cool side. There was the tantalizing tang of autumn in the air, rifling through the red-gold leaves that clung stubbornly to trees and swishing through the fur of squirrels skittering about the lawn, gorging themselves on acorns in their pre-winter binge. It was apple cider and jack o' lantern weather, and overenthusiastic department stores were stocking Halloween decorations in the windows once again. Quatre tromped down the stairs, shoes in one hand, wallet in the other. He was mildly amazed that he didn't step on the hem of his jeans and plunge headlong down the steps, and attributed his good fortune to whatever guardian angel, perhaps his mother, had recently taken to watching over him. 

            However, he was _quite _surprised to see three men besides his father sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating fresh Dunkin Donuts while discussing the weekend newspaper. Rupert Winner glanced up from the sports section, sourly bemoaning the Yankees entering the World Series yet again, and gave a curt nod to his son, whose arm was wading through the newspaper sections to the donut box. 

            "Good morning, Quatre."

Blue-eyed Quatre nodded in return, stringing a coconut donut onto one slender finger. "Good morning, Dad…Abdul, Auda…Uncle Rashid," he replied, reeling in his prize. 

The three Arabian men, business contacts and distant relations to the Winners, exchanged coffee-garbled greetings of their own. Abdul wiggled his eyebrows rakishly over the round sunglasses he always wore, due to some medical condition that made bright light unbearable to him. 

            "Surprised to see us? We thought we'd surprise your dad with a little breakfast courtesy of Dunkie's and the latest portfolio completed ahead of schedule. So…what's this we hear about you going on a hot date with a little chicky-poo today?"

            "Lia's not my date," Quatre corrected peevishly. "She's a friend from school. Remember, Abdul? I'm the gay one?"

Apparently he hadn't remembered, for the moment the words had left his lips, Abdul let fly a chunk of jelly donut with a surprised cough. Auda crowed, slamming his large fist down on the table. 

            "First time he's been left speechless in seven years! Good for you, kid!" 

Rashid merely rolled his eyes, pulling his billfold from his coat pocket and handing Quatre several crisp bills.

"Everyone at work thinks you've been studying too hard lately, Master of All AP Courses. Take this money and go blow it frivolously, I don't want to hear one cent of it went into your savings account. Understand?"

He nodded, stuffing the money into his jeans. He'd put it in his wallet in the car. It was best to take the gift and not argue with the mountain of a man, especially when the wad of cash had the well-wishings of forty burly Arabian businessmen, the chairs of Maguanac Industrial Corporation, Winner Enterprises International's sister company. 

            "And that goes double for me," Rupert Winner added, handing Quatre money from his own coffers. "Take your cell phone, call me if something happens, and drive careful. I may trust Lia's driving skills, but it's the skills of every other idiot out there I'm more concerned about. Got it?"

            "Yes, Dad. I'll see you tonight and call when I'm on my way home," he replied, kissing his father and hugging his relatives before grabbing a leather jacket, his tiny Sprint PCS, and heading out the door into the crisp September morning to sit out on the porch and wait. 

            It wasn't a long wait, but sometimes waiting can seem like an infinity when you're an anxious teenager with a wad of cash in your pocket. Quatre pulled out said wad of cash and unfolded it, flicking open his wallet. 

            "Holy shit…five hundred fifty dollars. Who gives a sixteen-year-old that kind of money?!" he gasped, stuffing it into the wallet and jamming it into his pocket. He'd always considered himself lucky to have such an extended family, thirty-nine "cousins" and one doting "uncle," plus _their _entire families to take care of him…Quatre was beginning to feel like the heroine from that movie Hilde had dragged him to, _My Big Fat Greek Wedding. _While musing over this, a slightly unfamiliar gold Ford Explorer rolled into the driveway. The window rolled down and Lia, dark hair French-braided into pigtails, leaned out on her elbow. 

            "Morning, Quatre! Look what Dad let me borrow!" she said with her trademark shit-eating grin. "The Crapmobile is getting serviced, so I get his Land Boat!"

Quatre laughed and climbed, literally climbed, into the passenger's side, sinking into leather upholstered comfort. Seatbelts were fastened and re-fastened, and before long they were bouncing down the pothole-strewn back roads of Plympton, Lia singing along to whatever song on the radio she deemed fit to add her perky soprano to. 

            "Hey, Jewel, shut the hell up! You sound like you're strangling a cat," a snarling voice stated from the backseat. Quatre jumped, not expecting to hear another person in the car. He whipped around, nearly strangling himself on the seatbelt, and found a young teenage girl with stick-straight brown hair and enormous silver hoop earrings staring at him, arms folded across her rather flat chest, glossy lips pursed with annoyance. 

            "Quatre, you remember my sister Nicole, right?" Lia asked, mouthing, "the bitch." 

            "Hello, Nicole, it's nice to see you again," he said genially.

The teenage girl glowered. "Whatever, gay kid."

Lia was visibly seething, gripping the steering wheel at ten-and-two (well, maybe more like nine-and-three) with white knuckles. "Nicole…"

            "What? He's the gay one, isn't he?"

The Explorer turned onto an almost invisible side street and parked, a house just barely visible through the trees. Lia whirled around in the seat, glaring black-and-blue bloody murder at her younger sister. 

            "Have fun. Call Mom when you're ready to go home. Get the hell out of my car," she stated in a clipped voice. Her sister flipped her off, muttering obscenities under her breath as she slid out of the car with a bag full of girly crap in tow. Lia sighed, shifting the car into reverse and cautiously backing out. Backing out was _not _one of her strong points in driving. 

            "I'm really sorry about that, Quatre. I wouldn't have brought her, but Jenny's house is on the way and Mom was giving me the 'do not argue with me' look."

He nodded, turning up the radio, then turning it down again when he realized it was Eminem. He couldn't stand rap music in the least bit. "It's all right. I was just afraid for a moment that she was coming with us. You did say she was your household fashion consultant."

            "Only because my parents won't let me adopt you. Hit that button there, it'll turn on the CD player. I put all the good music in there before I left, none of this rap shit. God, I don't know how Nicole listens to that!" she griped, flipping her blinker switch to head out on the highway. Quatre obeyed, mostly out of fear. Lia was somewhat of a scary person when she got mad. But peace and tranquility reigned in the Ford as soon as the first CD started up. 

            "Josh Groban? Good choice, good choice," Quatre said approvingly. "Had to wrestle it off of your mom again?"

            "Yup. I'm just too poor to afford the live concert CD. Maybe after a few more babysitting jobs. So, Duo told me something interesting the other day. It seems that he got the silly idea in his head that you were going on a date with Trowa Barton tomorrow. Now, how in the world would he come up with something so crazy, I wonder?"

Quatre was blushing heavily. "It's not a date, I'm going over his house for lunch and anime… Lia, what am I gonna do, huh? You're wise beyond all reason, what am I supposed to do? What do I say?"

            "You're asking _me? _Did we forget that I'm about as clueless about this stuff as you are?" she retorted, making a small adjustment to the rearview mirror. 

            "But you're smart, you're supposed to be able to give me your sage-like wisdom that I will inevitably ignore and then come crying to you when I've botched everything up," he protested.

The brunette girl rolled her eyes. "God, Quatre, you're making this sound like a cheap fanfic. What do you want me to tell you, hm? Something you don't already know? You'll be fine, Quatre. You have been imparted with countless ages of Disney wisdom; you don't need me to repeat it. Speaking of Disney…that urban legend about Aladdin is true."

They laughed about the bizarre sexual innuendo hidden within some of Walt's classics, the ones they'd seen in the theaters when they were younger and it didn't cost a small fortune to see a movie, but it didn't put Quatre any more at ease about what felt like impending doom. He was terrified that he'd make a complete idiot out of himself, and even more afraid of what would happen if he tried to 'put the moves on' a (possibly) very heterosexual (and possibly homophobic) Trowa. He felt like he was going to throw up, and the date wasn't even until tomorrow afternoon. 

++

            They dropped off the car in the lot, hoping to God they remembered where they'd put the car when came out later, and headed inside. Of course, this took an extra couple of minutes because Lia decided to be insatiably cruel and trap Quatre in the revolving doors for a few turns. He was eventually freed and they hurried off to the food court for an early lunch. 

            "Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Pinky?" Lia asked, grinning. 

            "I think so, Brain, but do I really have to wear the lederhosen?" Quatre replied.

She shook her head. "Man, it never gets old. Shrimp tempura from the cool Japanese kiosk thing?"

            "With extra wasabi and a double-helping of rice."

            "Jeez, Quatre, I swear to God you're going to go from being twiggy to weighing nine hundred pounds someday and we'll have to lift you off the couch with a forklift."

            The two teenagers ordered their lunches and picked them up in a matter of minutes, as there's never a line at the Japanese kiosk thing, and scouted out a table for two over by the nearest potted fern. Lia pulled her chopsticks from the paper wrapper and frowned at her bento box. 

            "Now, what is it that Heero always says before lunch? 'Ganbatte' is 'good luck,' and 'tadaima' is 'I'm home…' argh, curse my lousy memory!" 

Quatre shrugged, breaking his chopsticks and slathering everything in green wasabi. "Dunno. I'll bet if he saw us right now, though, he'd glare at us and say that thing he always says."

            "What? Omae o korosu?" Lia asked around a mouthful of rice. 

            "That's the one. I still can't believe he's Japanese. I mean, have you ever seen a Japanese kid with blue eyes? Aside from your standard anime bishounen, of course."

She mirrored his previous shrug. "It's because his mom is American."

            "Oh, right."

The conversation took an abrupt left at that point, going into lengthy discussions on anime and the convention that was supposed to hit Boston in April. Neither of them were going, though, as they were both headed for South Carolina over that same week to be a part of a Missions team that did charity construction projects. But they had a few mutual friends who _were _going, whom they managed to bribe into bringing back souvenirs from the convention. 

++

            The end of lunch marked the beginning of the great dress frenzy. Lia had insisted they get her dress problem out of the way first, so that they could focus the rest of the trip on outfitting Quatre for his "date." The blonde boy and his brunette companion wandered through the major department chains, Macy's and JC Penney's, and some of the smaller stores as well. Quatre hadn't seen anything that really flattered her, and Lia hadn't seen anything she could afford. 

            "All right, Filenes. It's the last place we haven't looked, and I have coupons," she said, almost dejectedly, as they rode the escalator up to the juniors' department. The sales rack looked picked over, all of last season's prom dresses colors too garish or pale to look suitable on a girl with Lia's coloring. She was of Middle Eastern descent herself, easily mistaken for one of the Maguanacs' daughters, but her skin tone was of her predominantly Irish heritage. 

            "What about this one?" Quatre asked, holding up a black dress liberally scattered with red spots of glitter. Lia frowned, wrinkling her nose. 

            "I think the neck goes too low. Besides, it's wicked long and unless I wore twelve-inch platforms, I'll be swimming in it."

He nodded and put it back on the rack with the thirty other dresses just like it, wandering around aimlessly. "What do you think about gold?"

            "I don't like it."

There went whatever idea Quatre had. Lia could hardly see his little blonde head weaving around the metal racks, happily playing the part of 'gay fashion coordinator.' She laughed at this concept and ran around the hangers to try and keep up with him. 

            "Okay, how about this?" he asked finally, holding up a dress. It was another long one, but it wasn't absurdly long, and the hem wasn't one of those obnoxious handkerchief-cut ones. It was just a straight, tube-shaped dress with thin black spaghetti straps, no fancy open backs or low-cut bodices. It was pale blue underneath, but there was a layer of sheer black fabric that made it more of a steely color, black velvet flowers patterned across the sheer layer. 

            "Bingo. Gimme a three and then go stand by the dressing room so I can model it for you," she instructed, taking the dress and heading for the changing room. Quatre leaned against the wall by the full-length mirror, waiting. 

            "Quatre? What do you think?"

She walked out, holding the dress up slightly, as it was still rather long on her five-two frame, and twirled a little. Aside from the fact that her bra straps were showing and she was wearing socks with penguins on them, she looked remarkably good. 

            "That's the one, Lia."

She pumped her arms enthusiastically before turning over the price tag that hung at her side. "Shit."

            "What?" Quatre asked, trotting over. The price was rather steep, and the coupons weren't going to make a big difference. "Oh, man, I didn't even look at the price."

            "Even with the coupons, this'll blow all my money. And I was _dying _to pick up another tape! Life sucks," she groused, tromping back to the dressing room to change. 

Ten minutes later, Quatre had managed to wrestle the dress from her and ran to the register, insisting he pay for it. Lia vehemently protested, begging him not to waste his money on her, that she could pay for it herself, that withdrawal from anime for one weekend wasn't going to kill her. Quatre was resolved, though. 

"I _want _to. You were nice enough to invite me, and you're going to help me with my crisis, it's the least I can do. Besides, I'm loaded and the money is burning a large hole in my wallet. And don't even think about paying me back, Lia Armen, because I won't take your money!" 

She couldn't argue with Quatre, especially not after he told the clerk he was buying the dress for his girlfriend. She felt like clobbering him, but just couldn't argue with him. 

++

            "So, what'd your sisters suggest you wear tomorrow?" Lia asked, swinging her garment bag. Quatre shrugged, slurping the ice cream she'd bought him out of guilt. 

            "Weird stuff. Clio thinks I should wear leather pants, Amyra wants me in one of those 80's TV show shirts, Kali says bohemian, and the other two could care less as long as I look good."

She cracked her knuckles and twisted her rings. "Man, those five are cracked. But, I think I've got an idea that you'll approve of. Come along, young Skywalker, let's get this done so we can go romp through the anime sections of all the video stores here."

            The perky brunette girl whisked her companion though several preppy teen stores, having him try on at least thirty pairs of khaki cargo pants and hating all of them on him. It was like some horrid version of Goldilocks, only with a twenty percent discount. Quatre just wasn't going to fit into any boy-sized pants, he was too short and far too slender for the cookie cutter variety pants designed for the rugged athlete. It wasn't until they got to Old Navy before Lia's second brainstorm struck the Atlantic coastline. 

            "Here, take these in with you," she instructed, slipping a pair of girls' wide-leg khakis in with the three other pairs already in his hand. Ten minutes and four pairs of cargos later, Quatre returned, looking highly embarrassed. 

            "They fit," he mumbled, hiding his eyes in his bangs. "The last pair fit."

His female counterpart nodded and paid for them herself, handing off the bag once they got out of the store. "I figured they would."

            Quatre griped about having to wear girls' jeans all the way back across the mall to the Hot Topic, complaining about rotten luck and how this was a bad omen for the next day. Lia's rebuttal was that he already wore girls' clothes half the time anyway, shirts from his sisters and whatnot, it wasn't really going to make a huge difference if he wore a pair of girls' khakis. Besides, unless Trowa would be checking out his ass the whole time, he probably wouldn't even notice. 

            He wasn't fond of the Hot Topic, the darkness and the gothic atmosphere and the scary kids that came in to buy their leather, fishnets and chains unnerved him. That, and shirts cost twenty bucks a hit, which was a complete waste in his mind. Lia waved her hand indifferently, wandering off to go peruse the Thundercats comics and play with the Invader ZIM dolls in the back. 

            "Go pick out something that'll go with your pants," she instructed. "And come find me before you buy it so I can approve."

He circled the shelves, getting a crick in his neck from staring upwards at the wall, where shirts were folded neatly behind glass display panels. Quatre was getting nowhere fast. He had no desire to wear a Transformers shirt, he'd never much cared for those robots in disguise, and the Star Wars shirts didn't appeal either. In fact, nothing seemed to suit his tastes, and he was afraid of getting smacked if he reported back with a Care Bears shirt. He ambled over to the sales rack, where something gold and navy caught his eye. It was a softball jersey shirt like Lia had intended, the kind with long sleeves attached to the short ones, and across the front was stenciled, "TRAINEE: GUNDAM FIGHT ACADEMY." 

            "Bingo."

The only problem now was finding the appropriate size, and, as luck would have it, there was an extra small, and the rest were larges. A large would just have to do, as the other shirts were rather ugly or depressing. 

            "Find something, Quatre?" Lia asked, appearing over his shoulder almost instantly. He jumped, yelping as if he'd been stuck. 

            "God, don't _do _that! Yes, I found something. They don't have my size, but at this point I don't give a damn. Does it meet your approval?" he replied pointedly, clutching his chest. 

Lia pouted. "Well, it _is _rather big, but the fact that it's on sale and it's a Gundam shirt make up for that. You pass inspection, pay for it and let's go."

++

            They spent the rest of the afternoon (and their money) on anime tapes and DVDs, Lia resigning herself to the former, as her techno-weenie parents refused to hunker down and just buy a DVD player, even though she continually protested that videocassettes were going the way of the dinosaur and the tape deck. She was especially upset that Quatre had bought a copy of _Gestalt, _which she'd been dying to see ever since it had been previewed on a tape of _Magic Knight Rayearth._

            "You'll let me come over and watch it sometime, right?" she asked, swinging her bag of movies. He nodded. 

            "As long as I get to use your hot tub sometime before I die."

            The two of them talked anime and made speculations for the upcoming episodes of whatever various series they'd purchased all the way home, stashing the bags of clothes in the backseat and cranking Lia's Michelle Branch CD. Quatre had called his father in the Plaza parking lot, and expected to be home at a reasonable hour, if traffic was cooperative. 

            "Hey, you know Cartoon Network started putting _Inu-Yasha _on?" Lia asked before resuming the lyrics of the current track. 

Quatre nodded appreciatively. "That's cool, but I bet they'll get bored with it by February and start up another weird series that won't be as popular."

            "Wouldn't surprise me, since _Yu-Yu Hakusho _has been nothing but reruns for a couple of weeks now. And they're still trying to keep _Cowboy Bebop _alive, even though that series is so definitely over. Hey, so what are you watching with Trowa tomorrow? Anything good?"

            "Don't know, guess I'll find out tomorrow. I'm still nervous, though, Lia."

She clucked her tongue. "I know, but you'll be fine. I wouldn't worry about it too much, don't want to make yourself puke over it, now, do you?"

            "Do you think he's gay?"

            "I don't know, Quatre, I don't think the odds are very good, but that's just my opinion. I mean, even if he isn't, I'm sure you guys can still be good friends. Look at the two of us," she pointed out. 

            "Yeah, but you flirted with me at Nicki's thirteenth birthday party and you didn't know I was gay until Noin told you a week later," he responded with a quirky little grin. 

            "Bastard, you weren't supposed to know about that."

            Quatre thought he fell asleep after that, because he didn't remember the rest of the ride home. All he knew was one moment he was talking to Lia as the Explorer rattled along the highway, the next he was having elicit fantasies of making out on the couch with Trowa, and two moments after that he was being shaken awake, slumped over in the passenger side chair, Lia all but punching him awake. He jumped out of the car, opened the back and grabbed his bags, thanked her for a great afternoon, and stumbled into the house. 

            "I'm back," he declared groggily. The five Winner sisters, their father, and the cat wandered into the kitchen, looking at Quatre expectantly. 

            "Well, how was it?" Rupert asked. 

            "I bought something to wear tomorrow and a bunch of anime stuff. I've got money left, but I haven't been to Borders lately so you can tell Uncle Rashid I blew it all frivolously. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Madiha raised an eyebrow. "Bed? But it's only five-thirty."

            "Yeah, but I'm wiped. I'll see you all in the morning. Love you, g'night."

They all kissed him goodnight, Sandrock nuzzling his ankles and following her master upstairs. He stumbled into his room, dropped his purchases on the floor at the foot of the bed, threw on his pajamas, half-heartedly brushed his teeth, and fell into bed. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. 

            _Please let tomorrow go well…_

++

_And so I leave you until next time, friends. However, next time might be a ways off, so be patient. And what the heck happened to _Inu-Yasha? _Where'd he go? And what's this _Reign the Conqueror _doing on? It's scary Greek history! Waugh! _

_Next Time: Quatre has lunch with Trowa. Will romance blossom or will he crash and burn in flaming defeat? Find out on Gundam Wing, episode four: The Victoria Nightmare. _


	5. Hyperventilation! Quatre's Afternoon wit...

_Hey, I'm back with another chapter, yessuh! It would've been out sooner, but I had a busy week with play production and all, and I had to do some research on Trowa's meal plan. Thank you, Frugal Gourmet! It's a long chapter, so savor the flavor, and please review. If not for my sake, then for Mr. Rogers'._

_Last Time: Lia and Quatre had a whirlwind mall excursion. Money was spent like water, and people are starting to wonder: does Quatre have mono? Hmmm…_

++

            If being a Winner wasn't a big enough parody of _My Big Fat Greek Wedding, _it was about to go full scale. Rupert went off to church, under the obligation of having to usher, while the "sorority of psychos" as Duo had once dubbed them, chose to stay home and primp Quatre for his "date." It was like watching _Rocky _and one of those Learning Channel makeover shows with picture-in-picture; one minute Quatre was being forced to take a 10K jog with Iria, the next, Amyra was soaking his nails and poking him with a cuticle stick. They at least let him change in private, but then gave him a full and thorough inspection upon leaving his room, criticizing the color of his belt, the comfortable leather shoes he'd planned on wearing, right down to his underwear, as if the tartan pattern of his boxer shorts would make or break the date. 

            "It's casual lunch, not my wedding, you lunatics!" he wailed as Clio rifled through his half of the medicine cabinet, trying to find an appropriate cologne. She pouted, uncorking various bottles and giving them a judgmental sniff. 

            "Ew, Quatre, all of your cologne smells like old men at a bingo parlor! God, no wonder you can't get a date, your stink drives them off," she declared, misting him with Bath & Body Works spray that apparently smelled like twilight. Quatre just thought it smelled like the thirty other scents in the store and there was no real differentiation. Kali even went as far as to put makeup on him, which he vehemently protested. 

            "Quatre, honey, quit squirming. It's just a little eyeliner to make those baby blues of yours really stand out. If you don't quit moving, I'm going to stab your eyeball and then you'll have to go to lunch wearing an eye patch. Clio, what do you think about his lips? Ice Princess or Sun Goddess?" 

            "Mm, go with Coral Kiss. You know what they say, coral goes with everyone."

Okay, forget the makeover show, Quatre mused, this was straight out of the _Rocky Horror Picture Show _and he was the "Sweet Transvestite."

Madiha ambled over with a jar of hair sculpting…goop…at that point the blonde boy tied down to the computer chair wouldn't have cared if it was strawberry jam, and proceeded to tousle his hair, rubbing the sculpting medium into the strands for that adorable "just rolled out of bed" look. The stuff felt like Crisco and smelled like Noxzema, which incidentally has this odd hickory-smoked bacon stench, and probably wasn't doing anything but giving him a hideous cowlick. 

            "Girls, I think we've done it," Iria declared, scrutinizing her baby brother. 

Amyra grinned wickedly. "From frog…to princess!"

Quatre would've folded his arms across his chest and glared, had his arms not been tied down with a length of leftover clothesline cord and his eyes glued open with…

            "Hey, did you put mascara on me?!" 

Kali shrugged. "Maybe just a little. But it was the clear kind, promise. Take a look, Quatre, what do you think?"

Clio untied the thick knot, the rope falling to the fuzzy bathroom rug. Quatre didn't even bother with the mirror on the medicine cabinet, he needed the real deal. He marched straight into his father's room, flipping on the bright overhead lights and standing directly in front of the large vanity mirror hanging over the bureau. 

            "Oh. My. God," he said, complete and utter shock punctuating each word. "That's not _me, _is it?"

Madiha cringed. "Quatre, we can fix it if you really hate it that much. I mean, it washes off…"

"No! I don't mean that in a bad way…more like…" He examined himself from every angle, making flirty poses as if he were strutting down a catwalk in the New York fashion district. "Well, as Hilde would say, hot damn!" 

He'd worried that he would end up looking like the effeminate star of some gay porn movie, the willowy lover some bronzed beefcake lusted after. In truth, he looked like one of the cardboard props set up in the window of the American Eagle…only gayer. Maybe more the look of the sweet to the eye but definitely naughty yaoi manga character. He would have used Tohma from _Gravitation _as his example, but his sisters were totally clueless about such things. He was even considering to go with a "fuckable" on the Duo Maxwell scale. 

"It's a little after twelve…" Iria stated, checking her watch. "I think we should hop on the Internet and get directions to this house of his, and then pick up flowers or something…you know what Dad says…"

"Never go empty-handed!" the other four girls chimed in chorus. 

Quatre just sighed, flexing his fingers nervously. Casual or not, he was still nervous as all hell. He'd woken up several times during the night worrying about lunch and Trowa…especially Trowa. He'd had nightmares of trying to get close to the Italian boy and being not only reviled, but getting the shit beaten out of him. And he could remember, even now, hours after those dreams had faded with the bright dawn, seeing Trowa's brilliant green eyes full of hatred and disgust. He kept telling himself it would be all right, clinging to some random stuffed animal he found wedged between the radiator and the bed frame. But there was still a nagging voice that kept reminding him that this wasn't some shounen-ai fanfic posted on the Internet, where if he just waited a few chapters and strained his eyes a little longer, there would be a happy ending and the two boys would have hot, steamy fanfic sex and whisper sweet nothings in Japanese, even though neither of them were Japanese. This was _real, _this was happening _now, _and he was worrying himself into nausea. 

            "Quatre, stop looking like you're going to puke, it's gonna be fine!" Clio chided. 

He nodded dumbly, following the parade of girls to the computer to print out directions from some online map site, and then to their car, six blondes marching in a line down the stairs. Had he not been so nervous, Quatre might have made a comment about either the Von Trapps or _Make Way for Ducklings. _

++

            Each sister gave Quatre a loving kiss and a felicitation as he hopped out of the car, bouquet in hand. He was a little nervous about the flowers, considering one doesn't usually give another boy flowers, but there really wasn't anything else he could think of and besides, his nagging siblings prodded him until he went ahead and bought them. They watched him like spectators at some sporting event as he slowly made his way up the front walk, trying not to bite his lip and feeling like a complete idiot. The door opened before he even got to the stoop, Trowa standing there with a warm smile and a brief wave to the meddling sisters still sitting in the driveway. 

            He was wearing a pair of stonewashed jeans, no shoes, and what looked like a motorcross jersey but was actually the replica of the flight suits worn in _Gundam Wing. _Not only did Trowa look absolutely hot, but he was racking up Brownie Points as well. 

            "Hello, Katore," he said, extending a hand. Quatre had to do some quick maneuvering of his flowers to free his own hand, but managed to accomplish this without looking stupid. He greeted his host and offered the bouquet, a blush creeping into his cheeks. 

            "Um, these are for you. Kind of stupid, I know, but my sisters kept telling me not to come empty-handed so…yeah," he stated. Trowa smiled, genuinely smiled, and thanked him kindly. Quatre was just glad he didn't give him any odd looks or start hitting him about the head and face with the calla lilies, orchids, and birds-of-paradise. 

            "Come on in, put your shoes somewhere, make yourself comfortable," Trowa instructed, waving his arm as he headed towards the kitchen with his flowers. Quatre followed, pausing only long enough to toe his shoes off and nudge them up against the wall. He glanced up at Trowa's back, grinning when he read the _03_:_Triton Bloom _printed on his jersey, as Bloom was his favorite pilot of all times. When he got in the kitchen, Trowa was filling a wide glass vase and arranging the flowers as best as he could. 

            "Lunch might take a little longer than I expected, Katore," he remarked sheepishly, carefully setting the vase down on the kitchen table. "My family said they had pasta, so I look, and I find _this._"

The green-eyed young man held up a box of Barilla spaghetti, glaring at it with disgust. 

            "This is not pasta, this is what you keep in the pantry in case you have no food and no power in the middle of a storm. So, I made my own, because if I didn't, I would have shamed twenty generations of Bartons. My nonna would have wept and then slapped my hands with a wooden spoon, she made her pasta from scratch every day since she could stand up."

Quatre gazed at him admirably. "I just think it's incredible that you know how to make your own pasta. I don't think I could do it."

            "It's really very easy, people just don't take the time to do it. We Italians, we take the time. My mama will spend her whole day cooking, just for one meal."

He gestured to the table, pulling out a chair for Quatre and then sitting himself, leaning on his elbows. "In Italy, we have one very big meal a day, several courses, a lot of food for a lot of people. This is…the slightly cheaper version. You don't mind?"

            "I'm looking forward to it already. You'll have to teach me how to cook like you do, so I can show off to my sisters. They can't even boil water without causing a disaster, which is probably why they're all still living at home," Quatre sighed. 

Trowa laughed, brushing the thick fringe of russet hair away from his face. 

            "My mama would die! She's always saying, 'Catherine, if you wanna find you a husband, you gonna have to be a good cook!' And so she teaches my sister to cook since she was very small and less annoying. But, ah, what Catherine did, I had to do. If she fed the goats then I would feed the goats. If she learned how to cook, then I did too. Mama would put stools by the counter so we could watch, and so I learned."

If it hadn't been glaringly obvious before, it was now. Quatre was most definitely, undeniably and completely head-over-heels in love. 

            The brunette got up for a moment, setting a glass plate on the table and wandering around the kitchen stirring things and sticking his head in the oven before returning. Quatre was eyeing the plate, upon which juicy slices of tomato and what might be cheese were swimming in undoubtedly olive oil and herbs, though they were elegantly swimming and tastefully arranged. 

            "What's this, Trowa?" he asked, not daring to touch any of it. 

            "A little antipasto. It's supposed to be very big, lots of different food, but it's a lot for two people. This is just some tomato and fresh mozzarella, a little olive oil and vinegar dressing, and some oregano."

It looked incredible and tasted even better, sweet and tart and tangy all at once, and Quatre was determined to either marry this man or at least hire him as a personal chef. 

            "Mm, it's wicked good," he said around a mouthful of mozzarella. "Mm, I was kind of surprised at how well you speak English. Have you been taking classes for a long time?"

Trowa nodded, olive oil dripping down his fingers. "We start learning English in kindergarten, so that we are practically fluent in it by the time you get to be my age. I was hoping they'd make a mistake someday and teach something like Japanese instead."

            "I've always wanted to learn Japanese, that way I can understand what Heero is saying when he's mad at people. He'll just start talking like a mile a minute, and then suddenly stop, like he hasn't spoken at all in the past half hour. They don't even let us learn Spanish or French until we're in junior high, but I took Latin instead because my sixth grade teacher said it was a good idea."

            "Spanish and French are overrated. Latin at least is Italian," Trowa replied, winking. Quatre blushed again, unsure if the transfer student was flirting or just being clever. Either way, damn, was it sexy! "So, Katore, what is your family like?"

            "Crazy," he admitted. "At my house, it's just my dad and my sisters and me, but my dad's business partners are sort of family too, so we have a lot of cousins. A _lot. _And all of their families, so family get-togethers are big, and loud, and wild…you can't turn around without getting hugged by another burly Arabian man or have some woman tell you you're too skinny and shove a stuffed grape leaf in your mouth!"

            "Then you'd fit right in with my family. Only difference is we're big, loud and Italian, even worse!" he glanced out the window over the sink, his expression becoming brooding. "It's going to rain. Ah well, nothing big, not like I was taking you out for a motorcycle ride or anything."

            "Motorcycle?" Quatre chirped. 

            "My father's a mechanic, he restored an old Gestapo bike for my birthday. She's a little heavy and clunky, but Heavyarms, she's all right." The oven timer started pinging, and Trowa once again headed for the oven. The kitchen was redolent with garlic and the smell of melted butter. Quatre watched with amusement as the tall young man clattered around the fairly small kitchen space, dropping lids and occasionally burning fingers, which came with a string of colorful foreign cursing. In fact, after he'd successfully burnt all of his fingers pulling together lunch, Trowa had sworn in at least half of all languages spoken in Europe and got a few Russian and Slovak ones in as well. 

            Quatre picked up his glass from the table and helped himself to the water dispenser thing on the refrigerator door, sitting again just as a very burnt and flustered Trowa slid a pair of dishes down. 

            "Pasta primavera, Barton family recipe," he said breathlessly. "Now I know how those Japanese men feel, only without the squid brains, eh?"

Quatre giggled absurdly behind his hand. "Oh, it has such a delicate flavor, I just love the way it has been subtly brought out by the squid ink sauce," he mimicked in a high voice, imitating the perky little Japanese actresses so badly dubbed on the Iron Chef. But in all seriousness, the pasta was incredible, as was the authentic garlic bread, as opposed to the cheap variety one gets from the Stop & Shop baked goods aisle. The company was just as wonderful; the entire meal spent relating stories of childhood and laughing over some of the ridiculous anecdotes that were batted around. 

            "Oh God, I'm _stuffed! _I think if I eat any more, I'll explode!" Quatre gasped, his fork clattering to the table after the pasta was just a fond memory. "That was…amazing."

Trowa smiled. "Wait until you try the gelato later. I have a couple of movies, if you're interested. Nothing really great, the Blockbuster was picked clean by the time my American parents took me, but it's more than we have back home. We have the smallest movie store in our town, there are maybe twelve movies in the whole store."

            The blonde laughed, setting his dishes in the sink and following the other young man into the living room, flopping down onto the couch and taking up a melodramatic and very languid position as Trowa sifted through the three or four DVD boxes. 

            "Ah, these are _Sylvia's _movies…I go to get movies for us, and Sylvia, she picks out for her! She isn't even home this weekend; she's visiting her grandmother! And where are…aha! Well, Katore, we have Sylvia's boring movies, and we have the one movie I found…have you seen it yet?" he asked, tossing the plastic case at the reclining teen. Quatre stared at the box with wide aqua eyes. 

            "Holy…Trowa! You got a copy of _Gundam Wing: Perfect Blue Edition?! _Do you know how long I've been trying to find this movie? _Perfect Blue _is the only one I haven't seen and I've been _dying _to find it!" he yelped, tossing the case as if it were suddenly white-hot. The brunette chuckled, picking it up off the coffee table and placing the disc in the DVD player. 

            "Then we'll watch. I have not seen it yet, it should be good, I think. This is the one they promised romance in, yes?" he asked, settling down on the couch next to Quatre and flipping on the surround-sound speakers. They attempted to divulge the pairings in the series by skipping to the directors' comments first, but the team of Japanese animators refused to reveal any information, laughing at the foolish kids who had skipped right to the directors' commentaries to see which pairings were included. 

            "Stupid Japanese. Why do they have to be so clever?" Quatre grumbled through the theme song and opening montage, glad that the animators had included a decent opening shot of Triton for once. He always seemed to be making some odd pose. 

            "As long as it is Triton and Raberba together," Trowa added. 

            "Really? You're a Triton-Raberba fan?" he replied, slightly taken aback. Trowa did not seem like the shounen-ai fanboy type at all. "Wow, I totally didn't see you as a shounen-ai kind of person."

Green eyes glanced over at him briefly, an unreadable expression in them, the brilliant jade suddenly smoky. "And you, Katore?"

            "Oh yeah, I definitely agree! I mean, not even Lena Peacecraft has as much devotion as Raberba has for Triton. How many episodes was he searching after the ZERO incident?" he answered immediately, blushing. Was this an undeclared statement of homosexuality, or just casual conversation? What the hell was going on? Did Trowa like him that way, were they just friends? And why was Meiran Long hovering around Odin Lowe and Solo? There were just more questions than there were answers, and Quatre was starting to feel rather frustrated. He knew not to push the issue, but he was dying to know what to do, other than sit back and enjoy _Gundam Wing _in all its subtitled glory, sprawled on a couch with a hot Italian, stuffed to explosion with the best food he'd ever eaten. Life was starting to suck again. 

++

            Trowa and Quatre stared open-mouthed at the television screen as the credits rolled, Lena Peacecraft dancing behind the white lines of Japanese text. Not a single sound passed between the two of them, the only noise in the room the song that was blasting from the speakers. It took Quatre maybe three minutes before he realized that yes, he had a tongue and yes, it could function because, no, it was not in Trowa's mouth at that point in time, nor had it been at any point in time other than a few illicit dreams. 

            "I can't believe they ended it like that. It was _incredible. _I mean, well…wow!"

Trowa nodded, cracking his knuckles idly. "Triton and Raberba got more film time than I thought. I figured it would be mostly Odin Lowe."

            "Me too. I'm still surprised that they didn't pair Lena off with Odin; I thought they would, you know, the stoic pilot and the princess scenario. But Meiran and Milliardo? Didn't see that one coming by a long shot. I was expecting her to end up with Doctor Lien."

Just then _Fur Elise _began a tinny rendition in Quatre's pocket, and he dejectedly whipped out his cell phone, engaged in a terse conversation, and shut it off. He glanced at it broodingly, then down at his socked feet, and back up at Trowa. 

            "Looks like I'll have to take a raincheck on that gelato. That was my sisters; they're coming to pick me up in five minutes. We're going into Boston to have dinner with my uncle and some of the members of the Winner Enterprises board. Sorry," he said gloomily. 

            "It's all right, don't worry about it. We'll just plan another time, do just dessert. I make a pretty mean cannoli," Trowa responded, walking him to the door. Quatre tossed on his shoes quickly, wondering just how long five minutes would be. Apparently, in the Winner International Time Zone, five minutes actually meant about thirty seconds. A bevy of blondes, and the one brunette man, pulled up in a gigantic blue Chevy Tahoe, Rupert leaning his elbow out the open window. 

            "There they are. Well, I'll see you in school tomorrow, I guess," Quatre sighed. "Thanks for having me, Trowa. I had a great time."

            "_Arrivederci, _Katore," he murmured, kissing him lightly on the cheek before opening the door. 

Quatre practically floated down the walkway, not even remembering how he managed to get back up into the car. All five sisters leaned over their seats expectantly, smirking with lips dyed with five different shades of lipstick, waiting to hear the full and detailed report of the afternoon's events. 

"Well? How did it go?" Rupert asked, glancing back as he backed out of the driveway, nearly clipping a mailbox on the left. Quatre just sat there, smiling stupidly, his fingertips poised on his flushed cheek. It probably meant nothing, the kiss. Trowa was Italian, and wasn't it common for Europeans to kiss their friends? But, at that moment, common logic wasn't worth a flying fig for him, as he continued to grin like an idiot. 

"Fine, it was fine. Just…just great."

++

  

_Aw, Quatre's in love. Isn't it just so cute? Oh, and hey, thanks to all those people who filled me in on _Inu-Yasha, _I appreciate it. Giant Robot Week, that was coolies. Speaking of giant robots, thought I'd point out that the _Gundam Wing _everybody watches in this story is the same thing we all watch in the here and now, just with slightly tweaked characters…since they can't well watch themselves! So, rather than Heero, Duo and the like, we have Odin Lowe and Solo. Nothing has changed to the plot, other than the pilot 05 is a _WOMAN! _And there is no such thing as _Perfect Blue _series, it was a cleverly constructed plot device. _

_Next Time: The Little Theatre gang gets the dirt on the date, and continuity gets thrown right out the window 'cause we're all gonna go see _Darkness Falls. _Will Quatre survive, and what's more, will he get some full frontal theater snogging? Find out next time, Allegro fans! _


	6. Terror! Darkness Falls on Quatre

_This came out a lot sooner than I had planned, but that's probably good news for all of you out there who have been dying for a new chapter. However, I still haven't figured out just where this fic is going, so things may slow down again soon. Key word being 'may.'_

_Last Time: Quatre had lunch at Trowa's, where he found out that a certain someone likes shounen-ai, and he got his first kiss. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a real kiss, but he got kissed! _

++

            It was somewhat of an unspoken code of law for music and drama students to congregate in the Little Theatre prior to the first bell of the day, hanging out before classes while there was time to talk. Duo would usually spend the time getting homework help from any of the available geniuses; those selfsame honors students usually slumped over in varying positions throughout the theater. Nicki would sit at the piano and fumble her way through some Beatles or Broadway, making some ridiculous face whenever her small fingers couldn't reach the next chord. She was working her way through "Piano Man" this morning, trying to remember all of the words and just kind of mumbling until she got to the chorus, when everybody would burst into song. However, things were about to get totally interrupted as Quatre came tap-dancing into the room through the stage-side door. 

            The small blonde boy slid down the curved banister, soft-shoeing across the carpet. He threw his bag, not quite hitting Zechs but coming fairly close, in his attempts to channel Gene Kelly. And he was singing as well, full-voiced Broadway belting. 

            "Fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly, I'm gonna love one man 'til I die…" 

Everybody stopped where they stood, and those who could sing chimed in with multiple part harmonies. "…Can't help loving that man of mine!"

Sally arched an eyebrow approvingly. "So I take it that the thing with Trowa went well?"

            "Yeah, I had a great time," Quatre admitted sheepishly, coming down off of his early-morning high. He'd be slumped over in a dazed stupor before long and usually tried to make the best of it by being rather sociable while he still could. Nicki whipped around, her long hair radiating static sparks off of her plaid shirt. 

            "So then ask him out, idiot," she said matter-of-factly. 

Duo got up from where he was scrutinizing his chemistry book, flicking his finger into the air as if he'd been struck by a sudden light bulb over his head. "Idea!"

He bounded over to Quatre and put him in a headlock, the blue-eyed boy flailing wildly to get free, to no avail. "We're all going to see _Darkness Falls _on Friday, you should come and bring Trowa along!"

            "_Darkness Falls?_" he repeated once he squirmed free of the headlock. "Duo, I hate horror films, haven't watched one since _The Exorcist. _I'd be too scared."

Sally and Hilde folded their arms, Sally pursing her blood-red lips. "That's the whole point."

            "Yeah!" Hilde added. "You'll get to jump in Trowa's lap the minute you start to freak! It's the best way to get close to a guy, never seems to fail, not even for the soap opera stars."

Lia glowered at all of them. "You guys are so cruel. It's a good idea…but it's still cruel."

At that moment Trowa happened to walk into the room, asking what was a cruel idea, and looking as though he were missing out on one of the biggest secrets of the century. 

            "Duo, 'gundanium' is not on the periodic table, that's 'gallium.' We're going to see _Darkness Falls _Friday night, you feel like coming?" Heero asked brusquely, not bothering to look up from where he was aiding his boyfriend.

            "Sure, why not? It's that or stay home with Sylvia and her friends, and Sylvia's friends bother me," the Italian replied, nodding a greeting at Quatre. 

Of all his luck, Quatre just _had _to be dragged off to a horror film. He couldn't stand watching them, he really couldn't. He didn't care how bad they were, how fake the monster was, or how terrible the acting was, they still scared him. Trowa or no Trowa, this still wasn't his idea of an enjoyable way to spend a Friday night. Maybe he could find some way to weasel out of it between now and then.

++

            "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I let you guys talk me into doing this," Quatre was muttering as he sat down at one of the tables at the mall food court Friday night, his head in his hands, a seven-thirty ticket to _Darkness Falls _by his elbow. Somehow, between a history test, a physics project and an English paper, Friday had snuck up on him and there was no choice but to comply and go along with the gang. It would be fun, his sisters assured him. He'd have a blast, they said. He never gets out of the house anymore, his father pointed out. And so, the blue-eyed blonde found himself here, going to see a horror film despite his absolute loathing of such. Hilde patted his head reassuringly. 

            "It'll be fine, Q. I read the review in the paper, they said the film sucked and it was more or less a waste of eight bucks. The only reason we're here is for shits and giggles and an excuse to hang out and make out," she informed him, promptly kissing Duo with a loud 'smack.' 

            "If it is any consolation, I was dragged here against my will also," Wufei stated, glaring at Sally. The blonde senior was innocently eating an order of fries, swinging her legs under the table like a small child. "Damn onna."

Lia shook her head, playing with the strings on her black drama sweatshirt. "You guys are such assholes. You're not making Quatre feel any better about coming with us…hell; you're not making _me _feel any better about coming! I'm just about as scared as he is!"

            "Your fear of this movie is pointless. It's all psychological," Heero stated nonchalantly. "And Hilde is correct, it will be a stupid waste of our time and money."

            At that moment, the rest of the gang appeared, walking in with a crowd of gothic teenagers that were already plotting to cause mischief in their torn fishnets, leather, thirty pounds of black eye makeup and fluorescent plastic Mardi Gras beads. They looked like refugees from a Madonna video, and the group of normal, almost preppy-looking high school kids had the misfortune of coming through the Blue Entrance the same time they did. Noin was giving the pack of kids death-glares, Zechs was grumbling about kids going to Hell, Nicki was happily oblivious and humming _Yellow Submarine, _and Trowa just looked pensive. 

            "Hey guys, sorry we're late," Noin said, leaning on the table. "Zechs _had _to take twenty minutes finding a parking space close to the entrance. We're practically parked at Best Buy."

            "Well _excuse me, _maybe I was concerned for our safety. Do you really want to walk a long way back to the car at night in a cold and deserted parking lot? It's the plot of one of those Lifetime specials," the tall senior retorted. 

Nicki was completely ignoring them. "Hey, how come I didn't know Trowa lived in my neighborhood? Noin comes to pick me up, and there he is in the backseat. How cool is that?"

            "Fabulous," Wufei drawled sarcastically. "Now go get your ticket, onna, before they sell out and you have to see _Treasure Planet _instead."

The four late-coming Lakers paid the ridiculous eight dollars for the matinee showing before everyone stocked up on jumbo-sized bags of overly buttered popcorn, sodas to sink an ocean liner, and several boxes of proper theater candy. Then, arms laden with food and chattering like a troupe of monkeys, they clamored their way past the aging ticket-checker. 

            It is a scientific law that has been proven with conclusive evidence that any time you go to see a movie, it will be playing in one of the last theaters in the hallway. It doesn't matter if it's showing on four screens; the movie you're going to see will be one of the last theaters. _Darkness Falls _was the second-to-last door on the right. 

            "We still have plenty of time before the movie, you know," Sally pointed out. 

Duo shrugged. "This way we can claim seats, y'know? So we're not scrambling to find places to sit when it gets dark and you end up having to sit beside some smelly grandma."

Seating arrangement was thus: Heero sat about three-quarters of the way in, about halfway down the theater, with Duo beside him and Hilde on the other side of Duo. This was strategic maneuvering so that the violet-eyed young man could adequately focus his attention on both of his dates. Nicki sat beside Hilde, followed by Lia, who was complaining that she would inevitably be stuck behind some tall person. Quatre moved in next to Lia, with Trowa beside him on the end. Wufei and Sally sat behind Hilde and Nicki, Zechs and Noin following them. Theater arrangement was somewhat of an art, and somewhat of a science. There was a delicate balance, one that had to be carefully arranged. Actually, it was just putting the couples together, with Lia next to Quatre so they could both scream and flip out together. 

            "Katore, you're not shaking already, are you?" Trowa asked, glancing over at him. Quatre nodded sheepishly. 

            "I really, really don't like scary movies. I watched _The Exorcist _once, but that's about it," he said, gripping the armrest until his knuckles turned white. Trowa rested his own olive hand over the pale one clenching the cupholder. 

            "It'll be fine, Katore, you will laugh about this one day."

The operative phrase would be 'one day,' as Quatre was starting to hyperventilate, sweating bullets, and they were still only showing those annoying movie trivia things. Nicki glanced over at him and rolled her eyes. She lived for horror flicks, especially ones that were supposed to be stupid, as _Darkness Falls _had been proclaimed. The auburn-haired girl gave Lia a hard jab in the side and jerked her head in Quatre's direction. 

            "Oh for the love of…that does it, we're playing the Triton Bloom game before Quatre goes into cardiac arrest," she declared. "Ready set go."

Trowa waved his free hand wildly. "Wait, what's the Triton Bloom game?"

            "We try to guess Triton's nationality and the last person to make a guess before the previews start wins. Sometimes we'll play the Gundam Multiplication game, but that's a different story," Noin explained. "Ooh, and Latino!"

            "You're only saying that because every fanfic author says Latino. He's French!" Zechs countered, tapping her nose with a straw. 

            "German. He's German," Wufei said irritably.

            "Germans are not as swarthy," Hilde commented. "I'm going with Portuguese."

Duo popped back a handful of Junior Mints. "He's Romanian, duh. Circus performer."

Green eyes flicked down at the shuddering junior, who had calmed slightly and seemed to be deep in contemplation over the nationality of a cartoon character that never had one to begin with. Quatre could somehow sense that Trowa was watching him, and felt himself blush deeply. 

            "You are all wrong," the tall brunette stated, almost arrogantly. The group of students stared at him as he drew out the pause to an almost obscene length. "He's Italian!"

And that was when the lights flickered out and the projector overhead whirred to life, displaying a Coke commercial. Everyone groaned in defeat, realizing that they'd been beaten by a newcomer. It was rather disheartening, an injustice according to Wufei. A Ziploc bag of oatmeal cookies fell into Trowa's lap, accompanied by a wink and a thumbs-up from Lia, who declared that the food offering was his prize, homemade by her mother and smuggled in. 

            "Remember, Katore, it is a movie. Nothing can hurt you here."

The sound of Trowa's voice whispering huskily in his ear sent shivers down Quatre's spine and for that one glorious instant of reaching his melting point, sloshing into a puddle on the gooey theater floor, he forgot about being afraid of the monster that hadn't even made its appearance yet. 

++

            During the first five minutes of the movie, while the preteen audience that crammed themselves into the theater and probably snuck their way in because they were too young to see the movie, a large cup of soda came flying through the air from about two rows down, over their heads, before landing in Wufei's lap. He was hissing Chinese curses through his teeth while Sally laughed at him.             

About fifteen minutes later, Quatre was shivering and whimpering again, his teeth gritted, chanting a mantra of "Triton Bloom, Milliardo Peacecraft, Raberba Khalib al-Winar" over and over. Trowa was quietly laughing at him.

            "Are you that scared, Katore?" he whispered. 

            "A little. That policeman's gonna die. The flashlight's about to go out and she'll swoop down from behind those boxes and…oops, there he goes," he replied, predicting the almost too stereotypical movements of the characters on the screen. The teenager really wasn't as scared as he thought he would be, but the demonic Tooth Fairy was still an unnerving sight, even for a cheaply computer animated villainess. Besides, Trowa's hand was still firmly clasped over his.  

            Popcorn and a couple handfuls of Sour Patch Kids sailed through the air and rained down on Wufei again as the protagonists of the film ran around the darkened hospital, sacrificing minor characters to the Tooth Fairy from Hell. Sally was practically wetting herself laughing so hard at Wufei, who could only manage to sputter "kisama" in his anger. Zechs and Noin were half out of their seats, fumbling around in the darkness. Duo was alternating back and forth between partners, Nicki muttering about how someday he'd have to pick between them. Lia had picked up Quatre's mantra and was now whispering it herself, clinging to the strap of her purse as if it were a lifeline. 

            "And that orderly will be followed by that nurse," Quatre predicted to Trowa. The nurse was picked off first, then the beefy orderly extra. "Damn."

Junior Mints and half a roll of wintergreen Life Savers soared backwards, shattering on impact with the floor, but mostly hitting Wufei. 

            "Wonder where all of that is coming from," Trowa observed, watching a lone Life Saver join its brethren. "Scared kids?"

            "Probably some idiot teenager who's bored," Quatre replied. "Knowing Wufei, he'll hunt the kid down after the movie's over and give them a super-long lecture on proper theater etiquette."

++

            "Wow, it's only quarter to nine. I thought the movie would be much longer than that," Hilde remarked after they all stumbled out into the light, blinking like mole people. 

Noin shrugged. "Gives us time to wander the mall, I guess."

Wufei was glancing around warily, looking for any suspicious characters that looked like they could have been responsible for the flying food. And then a handful of Gummy Bears hit the back of his head with a squishy thump. 

            "_Argh! Injustice!_" he screamed, clutching the back of his head as if it had been a bullet wound and not colorful and fruity bears. A group of giggling girls proved to be the culprits, and apparently, they knew Wufei. 

            "Bleckley, Riley, you damn onnas! I should have known you'd be the ones to do something as stupid as that! You are immature and weak, you hear me, immature and weak!"

The girl known as Bleckley smiled, wiggling a bandaged finger. "Just call it revenge for our little incident with the Bunsen burner in chemistry on Thursday, Wuffie."

            After that, they left the theater and the food court completely, congregating around a bench outside of the FYE and the Hot Topic. Wufei was still complaining about his sodden, candy-besmirched pants, and everyone else was having a chuckle at his expense. Heero then muttered something to Duo, who nodded, the both of them taking off towards the arcade. 

            "We're all going to go off and do stuff, so meet us back here by nine-thirty and we'll take you home, kay?" Noin stated, linking her arm around Zechs and dragging him off. Sally and Wufei went their own way, as did the other three girls. Trowa and Quatre exchanged glances, shrugged, and decided to wander their way towards the Borders at the other end of the mall. It would be rough going, fighting a sea of scary preteens who seem to celebrate perpetual Halloween, as well as families with strollers and screaming kids and the occasional annoying survey-taker. 

++

            "You survived, Katore."

The blonde boy glanced up from the copy of _Ceres: Celestial Legend _he was flipping through. "Uh-huh. I'm still going to sleep with all the lights on tonight, though."

Trowa laughed, running his hand through his bangs as he picked up a copy of _Gundam Wing: Battlefield of Pacifists. _"Not really!"

            "Yeah really!" he countered. "It may have been a stupid movie, but I'm still creeped out at the thought of some demon thingy coming after me once all the lights are off."

            "You are something else, Katore. Really something else."

He blushed, fumbling to put the manga away before he noticed that the next issue of _MARS _was in. He pumped his fists enthusiastically and grabbed it and several other books off of the shelf, holding in his arms a thick stack of graphic novels. 

            "Can you afford all of those?" Trowa asked. 

Quatre rummaged around in his pocket and whipped out his wallet, opening it and counting the money inside quickly and one-handedly. "Yup. My uncle gave me a huge wad of cash last time I saw him, and he told me to spend it all."

            "Lucky. I had to borrow ten dollars off of Sylvia so I could see the movie. But it was worth it, I had a good time."

            "Yeah, me too. I'm just sorry you had to put up with me and my whimpering."

Trowa shook his head, green eyes glittering handsomely. God, those eyes were incredible, absolutely amazing. "No, don't say that! It wouldn't have been as much fun if you weren't there. I like you, Katore. You're a good friend. I don't think there's anyone back in Italy like you."

A good friend? A _good friend?! _Quatre felt his insides lurch, and it wasn't from all of the theater food. He should have known that Dorothy and her 'system' would prevail again. Nine out of ten guys are straight, she always told him, and the tenth guy would be gay but either not interested or way too gay. Then again…he'd only met Trowa a few weeks ago, maybe there was still hope. Maybe. He slapped on his most endearing smile, hoping it didn't look too fake. 

            "I'm glad, Trowa. Let me just pay for these," he indicated his stack of manga, "and we can meet back up with Noin and the others. They're probably wondering what's taking so long."

The tall Italian shrugged. "Let them wait, they made me put up with their flirts all the way to the mall. Lucrezia, she nearly got Zechs to drive into a phone pole."

Quatre could only guess what they'd been doing, wondering why straight people had to be so damn crazy. He also harbored the secret desire that one day he too could suffer such distractions at the hands of a lover. Ah, hope sprang eternal. Especially for the fact that the checkout line at the front of the store snaked all the way into the world languages section, and showed no signs of moving. Trowa abstained from waiting in the line with Quatre, standing patiently near the front, absently rifling through the new releases. The blonde boy noticed how every now and then, he would glance up from the book table, his head cocked at an almost flirty angle, the flip of russet bangs that oftentimes obscured his features serving to accentuate the casual flirtation his eyes and utterly sensual mouth were innocuously posing. Quatre would glance around from time to time, just to make sure he was the one Trowa's gaze had poleaxed. As far as he could tell, he was. 

++

            "We-ell, aren't we the tardy fellows?" Duo sang, rocking on his heels. He had some plush creature tucked under his arm and his fingers sufficiently Chinese finger-trapped. Heero gave him a swift jab to the ribs with his elbow and a warning glare. 

            "Sorry, the line at Borders was unbelievable. I can't believe how understaffed it was!" Quatre panted, as he and Trowa had been sprinting since the Disney Store to make it back in time. Everybody else simply shrugged, as if the world would, in fact, survive Quatre's being late by three and a half minutes. 

            "Well, I guess we should get going, eh Zechs?" Noin asked. "It's going to take us at least an hour to get to the car."

The senior boy glared at his girlfriend with icy blue eyes. "Lu_cre_zia…"

Nicki nodded, still engaged in a rapid conversation with Lia and Hilde, waving in the universal 'I'll be right there' sign. Quatre realized that Trowa would have to leave as well, and just when he'd gotten his hopes back up after the 'good friend' comment. 

            "Pen…" he muttered, patting down his pockets. "Lia, gimme a pen!"

The petite brunette rummaged around in her purse and tossed a black stick pen in his general direction. Quatre whipped the receipt out of his bag and wrote his name and phone number on the blank side of it, thrusting the paper into Trowa's hand. 

            "Call me sometime this weekend, maybe you and I can do something. You _do _owe me that gelato."

Trowa smiled, well, more like grinned. "Sounds great. I'll see you later, Katore," he said, kissing Quatre's cheek for the second time in about a week. "Sleep well, don't let the Tooth Fairy get you."

Every pair of eyes, blue and brown, black and violet, darted from the retreating form of the handsome exchange student as he followed the others to the car, to the wobbling and dazed blonde as he tried very hard not to scream for joy. 

            "Holy tonsil hockey, Hee-man, Quatre's been kissed!" Duo yelped. 

Heero shrugged, not as fazed as the rest of them. "It was just a peck on the cheek."

Lia and Hilde were dancing around in a wildly spinning ring, the blue-haired girl remarking, "But a peck on the cheek could soon lead to a pe…"

            "Don't even finish that remark, Schbeiker. You dirty onna," Wufei cut in. 

Sally slugged him gently. "And _you _didn't want to see this movie, Quatre."

He nodded, wearing the same stupid grin he had on the last time. "Uh-huh. I think I'll be going to horror flicks a lot more often."

++

_I don't know about you, readers, but I think Trowa's up to something. Special shout out to Katie-Katie, who begged me to let her torment Wufei. True fact: when I went to see _Darkness Falls _with her and Meg (Riley), a cup of soda _did _in fact land in our row and sloshed Meg with Coke. I also yelled at some loser junior high kids talking during the previews. Word to the wise: do _not _mess with a PMS-stressed junior and her previews. _

_Next Time: Trowa spends the night with the Winners, which may or may not lead to some late-night confessions. Will he find out Quatre's little secret? And what do you mean, his name isn't really Trowa?! Find out next chapter! _


	7. Inquisition! Quatre's Sisters Interrupt ...

_Wow, it's been a while. Sorry to subject all of you to the torment of waiting, but life has been full of sickness and homework. And prom. Can't forget about prom. So anyway, to make it up to you, I present a nice long chapter complete with a little lip-lock action. (But you didn't hear that from me.)_

_Last time: Duo learned that gundanium is not one of the elements on the periodic table, Quatre learned that Trowa may have feelings for him yet, Wufei learned that injustice takes the form of soda thrown at him in a dark theater, and we all learned that _Darkness Falls _sucked. _

            Trowa called halfway through the second episode of _Yu-Gi-Oh _that Saturday, and Quatre was all too eager to abandon the rerun of the duel with Pegasus for a casual chat. It took twenty minutes and a frantic search of the house for some sort of parental guardian type figure before plans were set into motion for Trowa to spend the night and then accompany the Winners to church the following Sunday. He was coming at three-thirty, it was quarter to three now, and Quatre had turned into some sort of militant cleaning freak. His sisters were lazing about on the living room furniture, watching a _Powerpuff Girls _marathon, while he was scampering around the house straightening papers and picking up whatever sort of clutter he could. Every so often he would stop to berate them, demanding that they help tidy up the house before company came. They brushed him off, more interested in Bubbles and her crayons. 

            To say that Quatre was nervous would be a gross understatement. Sure, he cleaned excessively if he was having a friend over, even if they were just getting help writing one of Mr. Rizzitano's papers (though why they never went to Lia, Silver Lake's resident paper-writing genius, he never knew), but the fury with which he was cleaning the house now was unparalleled. It was as if he'd been possessed by Mr. Clean and the Brawny paper towel man, who demanded nothing less than perfection. Perhaps his neurotic cleaning was acting as some sort of calming medium, to relieve the butterflies that were flying around, up and out of his stomach. At any rate, it was like the boy was expecting Jesus for a sleepover, not Trowa, and the fate of his immortal soul depended on thirty-two ounces of lemon Pine-Sol and a bottle of Windex tucked into his belt loop like a revolver in a gunslinger's holster. Not even Sandrock could avoid the whirlwind of lemony freshness. 

            Three-fifteen saw Quatre in an absolute hyperventilating panic, one that his father got to experience firsthand when he came into the kitchen and found his son polishing the silverware, of all things. Rupert shifted the tool belt sliding down his hips, the hammer banging against his thighs and catching on the rips in his well-worn and paint-spattered jeans. Bet you didn't think Quatre's father was a handyman. 

            "What in the world are you _doing_?" 

            "Everything has to be absolutely perfect…and I mean _everything _and _perfect. _This has to go well. Nothing can go wrong," he replied, aquamarine eyes focused on the spoon in his hand. 

Rupert coughed, wondering if the Chilton House for the mentally disturbed could do a pickup. "Uh-huh, now why is it that everything has to be perfect, Quatre?"

            "Because this is the guy I have a really big crush on, and I want to impress him, because I feel like if I don't, he won't like me and someone like Relena Darlian will end up snagging him. And he doesn't know I'm gay, so don't make any of your flip remarks at the table, Dad, I mean it."

            "All right. I'm running over to the Home Depot; need more shingles for the shed. In the meantime, try to calm down. This Trowa boy sounds like a real ace, I'm sure it'll be fine."

            "You keep saying things like 'a real ace' and it won't," Quatre teased. Rupert laughed, realizing he'd just had an 'old man moment' as Clio called them, and headed off to pick up more shingles and probably a bevy of other exciting tools. It was the code of the father; never leave Home Depot with just what you intended to buy. The teenager allowed himself to calm down, put away the cleaning supplies, and sit at the island in the center of the kitchen, twiddling his thumbs apprehensively. 

            Three twenty-seven and Amyra was hollering down the stairwell. Her bedroom overlooked the driveway, thus she always knew (and always tattled) when someone was sneaking out at night or sneaking back in. "Quatre! There's a silver Escalade pulling into the driveway!"

Now, there was the possibility that this Escalade belonged to either a Jehovah's Witness or someone with coupons, or some poor soul who'd taken a wrong turn at the historical society building, or even those pesky Girl Scouts. However, he was too keyed up at that point to think of these possible scenarios, all that was on his mind was Trowa. And Amyra happened to confirm the identity of the Escalade owner when she came bombing down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen to assume some nonchalant pose to be standing in when their houseguest walked in. Madiha and the other girls scrambled into place as well, looking like a group of domestic goddesses, lounging in a Parthenon of spatulas and _Yankee _magazines. 

            Trowa came crunching up the gravel walkway with a lone duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a pillow tucked under that arm, and what looked like the plastic wrapping of a floral bouquet. Quatre had the door open long before he reached the front steps, face plastered with a jack-o'-lantern grin. Trowa smiled as well, punching the duffel out of his way as he stepped inside. 

            "Hello, Katore. I'm not too early, am I?" he asked genially, setting his bag and the pillow down by the door. Quatre shook his head; politely informing him that he was right on time. Trowa nodded and started unwrapping the flowers, shaking off the rubber band that tied the green stems together. "A friend said it was in bad form to visit someone empty-handed. So I brought these."

            The five women expected a simple bunch of flowers for Quatre, a small token they could heckle him over later in the day. They never saw it coming. Trowa made a grand show, approaching each girl in turn and formally introducing himself, kissing their knuckles like a true gentleman and presenting all five of them with a single and perfect white rose. They were all tittering and blushing like junior high students. And that was before Trowa handed Quatre _his _flower, one flawless red rose that glistened with beads of water like morning dew. The rose was accompanied by a quick and friendly squeeze of his hands and an even briefer peck on the cheek. It was more than enough for Quatre, though. 

            "I'll put all of these in water," Iria said, "Quatre, you show Trowa to your room."

Amyra nodded. "And I'll get you guys a snack. Milk and cookies not too juvenile?"

            "It's fine, thanks," Quatre replied, and Trowa agreed. 

Five pairs of eyes in varying shades of blue followed the tall and lithe form towards the stairwell before they met to confirm what they already knew: Trowa would be hooking up with Quatre, or they'd all kill him and bury him in the backyard. 

++

            "And, um, this is my room," Quatre said, almost nervously, pushing the door open. It was by far the biggest bedroom of the six Winner children, but it did not reflect Quatre's tastes in any way. In fact, it was still decorated to be a little girl's bedroom. The walls were stark white, except for places where wet nail polish had brushed against the paint, or where crayon marks were still visible. A border of pink and lavender poppies encircled the top perimeter of these plain white walls, the flowers very pale and feminine. All of the furnishings were white: the bureau, the bookcases, the headboard (which was another bookcase itself), the desk, the pole lamp, the chair accompanying the desk. The carpet was kind of a dirty champagne colored shag, with splashes of color where paint or nail polish had spilt and no amount of Resolve could lift it. The curtains were a celery green, to match the bedspread, which was a quilt of celadon, yellow and blue. A small group of stuffed animals stood sentinel on the headboard, manga falling over in the shelf underneath. A decrepit green wing chair sat kitty-cornered by the pole lamp and a pansy-covered bulletin board that held a Renoir calendar. The bookcases were brimming, overflowing with books and anime tapes, artwork and musical instruments. There were quite a few musical instruments, everything from a keyboard to a kazoo. 

            "Girly, isn't it? Kali and Clio used to share the room, and Dad just never got to redo it. He doesn't think there's time now, since I'll be going to college in about a year," Quatre sighed, falling onto the bed. Trowa dropped his things by the closed closet doors, swinging into the metal desk chair. 

            "It's a nice room. At home…my American home, that is…I am living in a girl's room. It used to be Sylvia's; she moved rooms when she got bigger. It still has the pink ponies and the dolls," he replied, eyeing the easel propped up in the corner, and the acoustic guitar next to it. "You play?"

            "Yeah, I'm kind of a musical prodigy," the blonde answered sheepishly, running his fingers through his bangs. "I can play just about anything you give me. Why, can you?"

            "Some things." 

Quatre nodded and picked up a violin case. "Of everything I play, I think I'm best at violin, though. Dad still has my very first violin up in the attic, he refuses to part with it, stubborn old man." 

He unfastened the clasps and lovingly rosined his bow, picking up the cherished instrument and quickly swiping the bow across the strings, frowning, and adjusting one of the knobs. Another swipe, and a nod of contentment. And then, Quatre played. 

            The first chair violinist at the Boston Symphony Orchestra could not have sounded more beautiful, and Trowa found himself transfixed by the slender fingers flying over the frets and the hand that stroked such beautiful music from the polished wood. Quatre had such an intense look on his face, as though he were pouring the very essence of his soul into the triumphant song that twined about the air like a writhing snake. And Trowa was moved. There was no way he could sit by idly in this cold chair while such a master musician unfurled his white wings. He scanned the room, though it was agony to tear his eyes away from Quatre, even for just a moment. His gaze fell upon a slender case serving as a bookend, and he grabbed it. The young transfer student flicked it open and hastily assembled the flute within, twisting the cool metal from short segments into fully functional instrument. He licked his lips, wondering for a moment if Quatre minded another person's mouth on his instrument, and played. 

            It startled Quatre for a moment, his chords faltering for one brief instant when the first clarion note of flute music trilled and hung in the air. But the stall was abruptly forgotten, and they played on, twining their melodies into one gestalt being, a beautiful and otherworldly duet that made the hair rise on the back of his neck. It was just too perfect, and Quatre half-expected to see sparkles, bubbles and a rainbow-hued background to appear behind them. It was something out of a shoujo anime, it really was, and it didn't help that Trowa was innocuously being sexy. 

            "Holy shit, that gave me gooseflesh!" Amyra proclaimed when they'd run out of energy to keep playing. She was hanging in the doorway with a tray loaded with two tall glasses of milk and a plate of still-warm cookies. "Here, take this, somebody. Oh my God, we could hear you all through the house. It was like instant orgasm!"

Quatre blushed furiously. "Amyra!"

            "It _was_!" Madiha added, sticking her head in. "Hot damn, you guys are good!"

            He shooed the two girls away, taking the tray of cookies and milk and shutting the door behind them. Trowa was disassembling the flute, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his bangs falling upon his face and concealing it once again. 

            "Why do you hide your face like that?" Quatre asked, handing him a glass. The milk sloshed over the edges and onto his hand as well as the floor. Trowa shrugged, accepting it and a small handful of gooey chocolate chip cookies. 

            "Sometimes it is necessary. Most times, it is because I can't make it do anything else. My family is known for having stubborn hair. Catherine, she once broke a brush because it got stuck in her curls," he replied, sinking his teeth into a cookie. 

There were a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by chewing and slurping. Quatre took the time to surreptitiously ogle Trowa, the two of them stretched out on the bedroom floor. He also took the time to notice just how messy his room actually was, seventeen years' worth of junk scattered into messy piles. It only _looked _clean because the piles were deceptively placed on the bookshelves, the desk drawer and the closet. 

            There was a light rap on the door, Rupert poking his head in. His hair was covered in a light film of sawdust, which also gathered in his mustache. He nodded a curt welcome to Trowa, who returned the gesture. 

            "Just making sure Trowa's all set. Takeout Chinese sound all right to you guys?"

Quatre nodded, his temporary roommate seeming slightly apprehensive. "Never had it, Trowa?"

            "I do not think so. It is not the unappetizing thing Wufei was eating at lunch Tuesday, is it?" he replied, referring to some sort of hideous type of food byproduct that the Oriental boy had whipped out of a lunch bag and consumed. Those who'd been at the table could have sworn he'd eaten tentacles. Rupert laughed, knowing all too well of Chang family cuisine and how unappealing it was. 

            "No, that's _authentic _Chinese food. This is the cheap American knockoff."

Trowa rolled his eyes. "You take integrity from Italian cooking, then Chinese. Who are you plotting to undermine next?"

Quatre giggled. "The Japanese. Sushi bars are popping up everywhere, and it's pissing Heero off to no avail. He's completely boycotted the stuff you can get at Stop & Shop for five bucks."

            "Right. So, don't fill up too much, we'll be eating pretty soon. And don't let the girls bully you, those five can get out of control and I've given up on trying to contain them. They take after their mother's side of the family," the patriarch sighed, rubbing his head and distractedly watching sawdust fall from his hair. 

The two young men nodded and went back to their comfortable, albeit awkward, silence. Trowa was perusing the row of DVD cases along one of the bookshelves, nodding thoughtfully at the titles and occasionally picking one up and scanning the cover. "You haven't opened this one yet?"

"I haven't found the time to watch it," Quatre admitted, picking up the disc in question. "Do you want to watch it while we're waiting for dinner? I heard it's a pretty good movie."

Trowa consented with a shrug, and the two of them commandeered the entertainment center previously being used by several of the girls, who'd been watching Buffy reruns and fighting over who was cuter, Spike or Angel. They seemed all too eager to abandon the television for them, exiting the room with knowing smirks plastered on their faces and nodding shrewdly to one another. Quatre had been blind to their actions, but knew by their willing hand-off of the television and DVD player that his elder siblings were up to no good. It was only a matter of time before they acted.

++

            Dinner was a small-scale Spanish Inquisition, one in which the family saw fit to grill Trowa about every aspect of his life. Quatre found himself struggling to get a word in edgewise, which to him was no real surprise. He couldn't even ask his father to make the interrogations stop, as the man was acting as grand high inquisitor himself. He was resigned to his fate; there was nothing for him to do but to eat his teriyaki quietly and wait for them to give up on Trowa and descend upon some other form of fascination. As long as there were no comments about their unformed relationship or any mention of homosexuality whatsoever, he was in the clear. As for Trowa, he was fully used to such obnoxious questionings by now, and answered every question amiably and as good-natured as he could, all the while glancing Quatre's way and making some subtle and almost unnoticed gesture. They were so almost unnoticed, in fact, that Quatre himself practically missed them. 

            "Katore, could I have the rice?" 

He nodded, passing along the carton to his right. Trowa accepted it with a nod, and before he continued whatever anecdote he'd previously been telling, managed to give Quatre a flirty raise of one eyebrow that nobody else had seen. Quatre nearly choked when he realized Trowa had done it and continued to do it throughout the rest of dinner. So while his sisters asked every question they could, from what the weather was like to Trowa's position on the Euro, Quatre began seriously contemplating his current situation. 

            _"Okay," _he said to himself, trying to spear a mushroom with his teriyaki stick, _"Either I'm hallucinating, or Trowa's been flirting with me. Please God, let it be the latter. Oh shit, what if he's not doing it on purpose? What if he's got some condition and it's muscle spasms? Won't I look like the biggest loser ever if it's just muscle spasms?"_

            "Hey Quatre, come on, we're going up to Clio's room," Kali said, tugging on his arm. He snapped out of his thought processes, blinking foolishly. 

            "Wha?"

Madiha nodded, grabbing the bag of fortune cookies from the center of the table. "You're coming upstairs with us to Clio's room, Trowa too. If you guys are gonna have a sleepover, you've got to do it right. So let's go."

Amyra and Iria shook their heads, refusing to take part in whatever the other three had planned. Trowa glanced over at Quatre, his apprehensive deer-in-the-headlights expression starting to come across his features. 

            "What are your sisters up to?" he hissed, following the giggling girls upstairs. 

            "Damned if I know," Quatre replied just as uneasily. 

++

            Clio's room was decorated in true retro-Seventies style, resplendent with beanbag chairs, Lava lamps, and tie-dyed linens. The air reeked slightly of incense, supposedly ylang-ylang but one could swear it was marijuana-scented. The band of Winners plus one houseguest passed through the beaded curtain strung up behind the door and flopped down into the beanbags, Clio putting on a CD of sitar music and lighting a stick of incense that would rest in the trunk of her Ganesh-shaped holder. Hopefully the Hindu elephant god would have pity on Quatre. 

            "We're going to play a little Truth or Dare, and you will not refuse under penalty of serious pain and/or humiliation," Madiha stated, tossing back a handful of Skittles that were stashed in a colorful art deco bowl on the dresser. "So, to start things off…truth or dare, Trowa?"

            "Truth," he answered, a decisive, defiant glint in his eyes. Quatre noticed that they were lime Skittle green in the light of Clio's many Lava lamps. 

Madiha smiled cruelly. "All right, what is one thing you haven't told anyone before?"

Quatre sucked in a breath and held it, being more nervous than Trowa was or should have been. The Italian boy, on the other hand, seemed hardly nervous at all. 

            "I lied on my transfer papers, my name isn't really Trowa."

They all stared at him blankly, wondering if he was just teasing them or if he were telling the truth and was really part of some secret spy organization or a party of aliens bent on global domination. That sort of cockamamie thing. 

            "Trowa is my middle name," he explained. "My real name is Anthony…but there are so many Anthonys and Antonios in Italy…I would go out to play and not know if that was my mother calling me home for supper or someone else's. So I put 'Trowa' down on my transfer papers so I wouldn't have to hear one more person yelling for Anthony. I'll be able to legally change my name to 'Trowa Anthony Barton' in a few months." 

            "Anthony Trowa Barton…you're right, it sounds funny," Quatre said, making a face. "Trowa's a perfectly good-sounding name to me."

He nodded and proceeded to ask Kali if she would select truth or dare. The youngest of the Winner daughters chose dare, and was forced to eat two tablespoons of stick butter straight. Everyone had a laugh at her expense as the girl had to choke down raw butter without a glass of anything to chase it down. 

            The game continued for a while, Quatre somehow avoiding being chosen. Trowa was rather good, he could stomach the dares the sisters came up with and always managed to have a witty retort for the truths. It was; however, very disconcerting to not be called upon in fifteen minutes of play, and Quatre was beginning to grow uneasy. Trowa hadn't even picked on him yet. 

            "All right Quatre, truth or dare?" Clio asked, flicking her glossy golden curls over her shoulders with a starlet's toss. 

            "Um…truth?" he replied hesitantly, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This was it, the revenge for whatever wrongs he'd committed in the past twenty-four hours. This was his Judgment Day. Clio opened her mouth to dole out punishment when Madiha interrupted. 

            "You have to tell your deepest, darkest secret," she said in a voice husky with evil. Kali laughed with butter-slick lips. 

            "Good one, Madi!" 

Quatre blanched, stammering unintelligibly that he couldn't, he wouldn't. Trowa smiled, almost cruelly, arching his eyebrows with suggestion. 

            "Seems as though Katore has something to hide, eh?"

The girls all laughed at this comment, Madiha nodding to Quatre when his helpless gaze fell upon her. He knew exactly what she wanted him to say, and it was the one and only thing he didn't want to. 

            "No way! I am _not _telling him _THAT!" _he cried, going from creamy white to a full scarlet blush, turquoise-blue eyes going wide. Clio put her hands on her hips and loomed over him, flames seeming to dart out from behind her in a mimic of hellish fury. He cowered, becoming a meek mouse in her presence. 

            "_I am your sister, and you will do as I say, NOW TALK!" _she thundered, pointing the finger of Doom at him and flicking him on the nose with it. Trowa peered out from behind his bangs in a "well, we're waiting" sort of expression, wryly amused. 

            "Um, I…" Quatre stammered, his face a shamed hue of strawberry red. "I…"

Iria and Amyra kicked the door in, the beaded curtains making a soft clinking noise as the door sailed open. They stood there for a moment, fists up in a sort of Charlie's Angels minus Farrah Fawcett type pose, glowering with skills that far surpassed even Chang Wufei, King of Glowering. 

            "You little shits, I hope you're not making Quatre do something he doesn't want to!" Iria chastised, even though she wasn't much older than said 'little shits.' One of them happened to be older than her, in fact. 

            "Dad says you have to leave Quatre and his friend alone, so let them go," Amyra added. "Besides, he says it's _your _turn to clear the table, so hop to."

Grumbling, the two younger sisters and the one older one trudged off to accomplish their appointed task. Quatre sighed in relief, thanking God Almighty that at least two of his sisters had some sense in their heads. 

            "Come on, Trowa, I think we left the movie on pause," he said shakily, ready to beat a hasty retreat. Trowa nodded and followed, asking whether or not Quatre thought the heroine would escape from her latest predicament in time. Iria and Amyra exchanged glances. 

            "Damn, that was close," Amyra sighed. 

            "Yeah, good thing Dad warned us that Quatre doesn't want Trowa finding out he's gay. I'm pretty sure that's what those assholes were up to," Iria remarked. 

Sapphire-eyed Amyra shook her head in annoyance. "I don't get that kid. He's not doing himself any good by not saying anything. It's probably only making things worse."

            "I know, but having Clio and the others pry it out of him in a game of Truth or Dare isn't the way to go about it. Remember, that was how we found out he had a crush on that boy in his Earth Science class."

            "Oh yeah, and Kali went and told the kid and Quatre came home with a black eye and a fat lip. Mm, those were the days."

++

            The two teenage boys watched the rest of their movie and two others, Quatre nipping down to the kitchen between the end theme of one episode and the opening theme of the next to pop a bag of popcorn and grab a couple of cans of soda from the fridge. Trowa was draped over one arm of the couch, feet curled under a throw pillow. He glanced up at Quatre as the blonde came around the corner, his face blued by the screen.

            "I made popcorn," he said simply, tossing a can of soda at Trowa. The Italian was wise enough not to open the can immediately, lest he be doused thoroughly with fizzing mess. 

            _"Grazie, _Katore," Trowa replied, scooping a handful of molten and heavily buttered popcorn from the paper bag. "Mm, so what were you going to say before your sisters came in?"

Quatre nearly choked. "Wha?"

            "When we were playing Truth or Dare, you never finished. What were you going to say?" he repeated, now cautiously popping the metal can tab back and taking a long swig of cranberry ginger ale. 

            "I'll tell you later," was the response as the now thoroughly embarrassed boy upped the volume on the television. Great, now Trowa's curiosity had been aroused and he'd probably be asking him about it every chance he got. Question was, should he tell Trowa? Would their friendship be affected if he admitted that he was gay? It was this sort of troubling train of thoughts that ruined a perfectly good DVD of a perfectly good anime series. 

            He came to the realization that he often had to remind himself that he wasn't ashamed of being gay. In Quatre's mind, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, and, if given the choice, he'd let everyone and their hairdresser know because of his strong sense of self-pride. But society was still made up of homophobic jackasses who'd sooner sucker-punch you and leave you for dead facedown in a ditch somewhere. And while Trowa seemed like the kind of guy who could care less, especially being a supporter of shounen-ai, he could not avoid the crumb of paranoia festering in his mind. 

            "Hn," Trowa sighed, swirling the last swigs of soda around in his can. "That better be a promise, Katore."

He nodded, trying to hide under his fluffy blonde bangs. The hole he dug for himself suddenly seemed to extend halfway to China. 

++

            Sometime between "late" and "ridiculously late" Rupert had come into Quatre's room with an air mattress and inflated it, dressing it with the appropriate bedclothes and tossing Trowa's pillow on top. Quatre was staring at the two pillows and the gray fleece throw blanket, the long-lost twin of the hunter green one that occupied his own bed. Trowa had disappeared into the bathroom across the hall to change into pajamas and brush his teeth. He drew his knee up to his chest and hugged it, arms encircling blue pinstripe pajama bottoms that matched the stonewashed blue shirt he wore that proclaimed he was "PROPERTY OF WINNER ENTERPRISES." 

            Trowa stifled a yawn as he stumbled back in, a tube of toothpaste in hand. Quatre felt his throat constrict, glancing up at his guest. Clad in a tight black tee and black boxers patterned with the green scrolling print from the opening of _The Matrix, _he seemed otherworldly, if it was at all possible. Roman gods did not often make themselves known to mortals while clothed in _Matrix _boxer shorts. Sandrock minced her way in after him, the kitten's wiry body twining around his bare ankles. Trowa stooped down to pet her, tossed his toothpaste in the general direction of his duffel, and sat down on the bed beside Quatre. The mattress dipped under his added weight. 

            "All right, Katore, it is later. We will finish the game," he chided, picking a stuffed animal off the back of the headboard and holding it loosely in his arms. The bear was actually more in his lap than his arms, and Quatre could have sworn the thing had gained a cheeky little grin at this. 

            "Fine, fine, you win," he conceded, heartbeat thundering along at the breakneck speed of a chariot rounding the corner at the Circus Maximus. 

Trowa watched his lips move, no sound emitting from them. "Hm? What was that?"

Quatre repeated the motion, his voice still failing. The brunette boy asked him to repeat himself once again, leaning over to stroke Sandrock behind her ears. 

            "I'm gay, all right?!" Quatre sputtered. 

Trowa ran his hand through his bangs, his mouth twisting into something like a smirk. 

            "You're lying. That's not your worst secret," he stated boldly. "That isn't even a secret. Katore, I knew that. I knew that since we met."

            "_WHAT?!"_

            "You are surrounded by pretty girls, and you are not seeing any one of them as a girlfriend. It's a little suspicious, you know. Besides, I am from _Italy. _Do you know how many gay men there are in Italy? Not to mention the rest of Europe. What did you think I would do, gut you and string you up on a lamppost?"

Quatre blushed. "Maybe. Americans aren't too receptive of gay people. We're getting better, I guess, but it's still not great. I've been threatened before, and it's not a nice feeling."

Trowa stared at him earnestly, his sweep of cinnamon hair falling away from his eyes for once, offering both flawless emeralds up for scrutiny. 

            "I would never do anything to hurt you, Katore, on my life. You are my dearest friend, and I…" he trailed off, obviously deciding that whatever he was about to say next was not necessary, or perhaps he was afraid to say it. 

            "I trust you, Trowa. Thanks."

             Quatre thought for a moment there that Trowa might kiss him. The air in the room felt heady with sexual tension, almost like in the movies when the hero and the heroine are standing there, fighting with each other, and then the next thing you know they're sucking face. He wondered if he should just take the initiative and kiss Trowa, it wasn't like there was any real threat of getting smacked now, even if it turned out he was straight after all. He decided he might as well, no harm in trying, no chance of serious bodily harm unless they clonked noses or something. He leaned over to kiss him, trying very hard to seem alluring and sexy, and for a fraction of a heartbeat it seemed as if Trowa was leaning over as well. That was before Sandrock jumped up and swatted Quatre on the nose, tiny claws pinpricking it. 

            "Ow! Damn cat! Sandrock!" Quatre yelped, clutching his scraped nose as tiny droplets of blood beaded on the tip. Trowa was too busy laughing to offer any consolation, and Sandrock took off like a shot out of the room. 

            "I should have gotten a dog," the blonde grumbled, moving his hands away for his companion to inspect. The green-eyed young man sucked on the pad of his thumb and ran it across Quatre's delicate and now bloodied nose with a tender smile. 

            "At least she is only small. It would have hurt more if she was a big cat," he pointed out, stifling a yawn. 

Quatre yawned in response. "I think this is the part where we turn in for the night before we fall asleep sitting up."

Trowa nodded and started to slide off the bed, turning as his feet hit the ground. The heel of his hand slid across Quatre's cheek, fingertips curling around one ear as he pulled his temporary roommate close enough to plant a kiss on delicate and rosy lips. Quatre inhaled sharply out of shock but returned the gentle kiss, fingers resting on the back of his neck. 

"Good night, Katore. Sleep well," Trowa murmured, sliding down into his own bed. 

"Good night, Trowa," he replied dazedly, leaning over and turning off the light. Trowa was asleep almost instantly, while Quatre lay in bed for a while, just staring down at him. He'd put a nightlight in the furthest corner of the room, just in case the path to the door needed illumination, and the soft glow made shadows dance across the walls and that handsome olive face. Quatre licked his lips, cheeks and ears hot with a blush. His lips tasted of Trowa, and Trowa tasted of Italy. 

"Good night," he repeated, though his words went unheard. "I love you."

++

_That's all for now, kids. You're just going to have to sit and suffer again until I type you up a new chapter, which may take days or weeks, depending on the amount of homework and the size of the writer's block that will try and obstruct my vision. And hey, while you're waiting, tap-dance on over to Anne Olsen's Shades and Echoes, where all of my Gundam goodness is parked, plus a fic that's never been posted on fanfiction.net ever. _

_Next Time: The second half of the sleepover, in which Trowa accompanies Quatre to church and they both get put on daycare duty. Will they survive a handful of screaming toddlers? And will there be love among the diaper bags? Find out next time! Wah!_


	8. Adorable! Quatre's Sunday and a Shirtles...

Hey, I'm back! I'm really sorry about taking so long with this chapter, I know it's in bad form to keep readers on tenterhooks like that, but my life has been all too crazy. Between April Vacation and AP Exams, I've just been killing to find time. But here I am! Back with another chapter! Go forth, monkeys, and enjoy!

++

            Last one asleep and the first one awake, such was Quatre's curse. He rolled over on his side, squinting at the clock sitting on the dresser across the room. Seven seventeen. Dammit. He would have groaned, but didn't want to wake Trowa. Speaking of which…Quatre leaned over the side of the bed, propped up on his elbows, gazing down at Trowa. The brunette was pretty much unconscious, his cheek mashed into the pillow, hair sticking out at all angles, Sandrock curled up in a tight, tawny pom-pom next to his nose. It was outright adorable. He almost didn't have the heart to wake Trowa, but if they ever hoped to eat breakfast, shower and dress, and get to church on time he would have to. 

            "Trowa…" the blue-eyed boy whispered, running the second joint of his index finger against his companion's cheek. He shifted, groaning, hiking the comforter over his head despite the fact that his feet now hung out at the bottom. Quatre's shoulders slumped in mild annoyance. 

            "Great," he muttered. There was a fine line between cruelty and kindness when it came to waking someone up, and Quatre wasn't sure if he should cross over to the Dark Side or not. The Voice of Reason said to be kind; the guy _did _kiss him last night. Then again, he was starving and he _had _given Trowa a perfectly fair chance to get up sooner. Okay, maybe one more nice, gentle wakeup call. Then he was going to be evil and tell him the Tallgeese was gunning for his cockpit and he was out of ammo. It never failed. 

            "Trowa, wake up. Hey Trowa…"

            "_Ti amo (1)_," he mumbled underneath the covers. Quatre hardly heard it, and even then could only make out garbled nothingness. But it was sexy-sounding Italian garbled nothingness. And for that alone would he spare Trowa of a cruel awakening. The brunette boy shifted again, emerging from his shell of blankets, face turned up towards where Quatre lay watching him. Perfect angle for a good-morning kiss, he mused. Oh well, here went nothing, Quatre mused to himself. Hey, you're only young and horny once. Best carpe diem and all of that shit while you can.

            He slipped down off of the bed to crouch in the six-inch-wide strip of carpet between bed and inflatable mattress. With painstaking caution he slid onto his knees, bracing himself on the metal bed frame as he leaned cautiously over Trowa's prone form, practically not breathing. Quatre said a quick prayer and closed the gap that separated their lips. He was a little surprised that he didn't screw up and clonk Trowa on the nose or anything, but didn't really belabor himself on this thought too long as he was more interested in focusing on the kiss. It was fairly chaste, a little clingy, and just enough to produce cracks of jade from underneath cinnamon lashes. Quatre backed off as soon as Trowa began to emerge from his catatonic state. 

            "Mm, Katore?" he purred, scrubbing his eyes with the pads of his middle fingers. 

            "Hi. We've got to get up and get ready for church before we end up with cold breakfast and even colder showers. Okay?" Quatre replied in the gentlest voice he could, that almost sounded husky with desire (at least, in his ears).

            "Mm. I wouldn't mind a cold shower," he said, yawning. "Maybe it'll wake me up."

            They slipped down the stairs into the dining room, where a platter of gooey hot cinnamon rolls oozed creamy frosting onto the tablecloth. Rupert sat at the table in a fuzzy navy bathrobe, reading the Sunday paper, a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow. He glanced up at the arrival of the two young men. 

            "Morning, boys. Sleep well?"

They nodded, silently picking up saucers and selecting the cinnamon rolls with the most frosting still on them. Rupert completely understood their lack of answer. 

            "There's a pot of fresh coffee on the counter, help yourselves, guys. Oh, and there's milk and juice and stuff if you don't drink coffee, Trowa," he amended. 

Trowa perked up slightly. "I'm addicted to coffee, actually. The Noventas don't drink it; all they have is a little tin of instant for me to drink. It is like drinking Roman sewer water."

            "I promise, this is high quality coffee imported for me by burly Arabian men who know their java." 

The brunette boy stumbled his way towards the coffeepot, while Quatre and his father leaned heads together conspiratorially. 

            "How'd last night go?" he whispered. 

            "I told Trowa I was gay, he said he already knew," Quatre confessed. "And he gave me a good-night kiss. Nothing big, mind you, but it was on the lips so…I think he likes me, Dad."

He nodded. "Good. I like him, he's a nice kid."

Trowa passed the father approval rating, as well as the Mad Five's torture test. Well, all Quatre needed now was a confirmation that Trowa did indeed like him and was not just stringing him along, and he was golden. It was stupid to think that he didn't at this point, but Quatre was habitually paranoid.

            Trowa stumbled in again, a mug of coffee in each hand. For a moment there, Quatre and his father assumed both were for him. That was before Trowa nodded at his blonde host and handed him one of the steaming mugs, already creamed and sugared. This seemed a little suspicious, but as Quatre took an experimental sip, he came to the conclusion that the coffee had been doctored exactly to his specific tastes. 

            "Trowa, how'd you know what I liked in my coffee?" he inquired, picking up his cinnamon roll. The Italian boy seemed to blush and shrink back behind his bangs. 

            "I didn't. I like mine that way, and put it in both mugs, forgetting I poured one for you," he answered shyly, emphasizing his response with a yawn. 

Rupert chuckled quietly behind his newspaper, flicking the page with a thumb. "Well boys, eat up so you can get a head start on the shower runs. I'd like to leave the house by nine-fifteen at the very latest, if that's all right."

The two young men nodded, but Quatre still seemed slightly confused. 

            "Dad, how're we all going to fit? The Tahoe just barely seats all of us, so…"

The dark-haired patriarch cracked a grin, lowering his paper. "The girls will take the Tahoe. The three of us will go in _my car._"

An audible clunk sounded in the dining room as Quatre's jaw dropped to the table…actually, it might have just been Trowa's knee bumping the underside, but it'll do. Rupert owned a sleek black Beemer, one that never left the garage and was hand-polished on a regular basis. To drive in the Winner Beemer was a special privilege that only came about on special occasions or emergencies where a car other than the all-purpose Tahoe or the little junk buckets the girls had was necessary. 

            Due to this new circumstance, the two young men began tucking into breakfast with a greater gusto, wolfing it down in hopes of finishing quickly and dressing even more quickly, so that they might be able to leave the house early and go for a pre-church joyride around Duxbury, where the church was located. It was about twenty minutes away and in one of the more snobbish, wealthy towns on the South Shore. To be jetting around the posh Washington Street in a glossy BMW when you're from backwater little Plympton was a big deal. 

            "Go on up, I'll get your dishes," Rupert offered once the two teenagers had eaten enough to satiate them until the coffee hour after church. Quatre scrambled to his feet skirting around the corner and bombing up the stairs with heavy footfalls, Trowa clumsily following. Mr. Winner almost held the brunette back for a moment to give some sort of imposing fatherly warning on the outcome of anyone who deemed himself foolish enough to hurt his only son, but decided at the last minute that he was both too tired and too trusting of the boy to do so. Besides, if Quatre found out, patricide would be on the list of things to do that evening. 

++

            Trowa was graciously given the rights to the revered First Shower, and as he darted into the bathroom shared by the multitude of Winner siblings, he offered Quatre a smile of gratitude and maybe something more than that. He also threw a quick kiss onto the blonde boy's cheek as somewhat of an afterthought as he shut the door behind him. While he stood outside the door waiting for his shot at warm water, Quatre pondered the newly noticeable flirtatiousness in his Italian friend. Newly noticeable in that he either hadn't been paying too much attention to it at first, or that Trowa was getting more showy in his methods. More likely a combination of the two. At first he came to the conclusion that his crush had not been entirely sure of Quatre's homosexuality and played it safe until he was certain…though he almost immediately threw that theory out considering the fact that he practically had a neon 'QUEER' sign flashing overhead. It wasn't until Iria staggered out of her room and issued a garbled greeting that he decided Trowa had been nervous about being more open, more flirtatious, just as he had been (and still was) nervous about being less paranoid and bolder. 

            "Do you have enough bottles of shampoo in there?" Trowa joked as he stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind him. Quatre would have loved to make a witty retort, had he not been staring at the young man like a slack-jawed idiot. There stood the model for every Classical Greek sculpture he'd ever had to endure watching in a blurred slide show on Mr. McCarthy's whiteboards, clad in naught but a rather short blue bath towel that somehow got splotched with flamingo pink, possibly from an accidental bleaching or the color running. It didn't matter, though, because the towel was the last thing Quatre was focused on. Practically washboard abs, taut stomach, muscles so well-defined you could probably bounce a quarter off of them, skin evenly tanned and gleaming with water, cinnamon bangs slicked back so they practically touched the nape of his neck save for a few stray pieces that brushed dashingly across his forehead, high cheekbones, handsome Romanesque nose, and those jade green eyes that threatened to betray him. 

            "Katore?"

_Close your mouth before something flies in, _a helpful voice in his head ordered. 

Quatre blinked, trying to break free of the morass-like spell that had been woven in the air around him. 

            "Shower, right. I'll be out in a couple of minutes," he dithered, stumbling over himself to get in and slap the door shut behind him. The water would most certainly be running cold for his shower, though the image of Trowa sans everything but that splotchy towel had been burned into his mind. Though he thought of himself as hardly the equivalent to _that _body, Quatre decided he'd just have to return the favor. 

++

            Trowa smiled to himself as he contemplated his reflection in the mirror, trying to decide whether to leave two or three buttons undone on his celery, forest and white-striped dress shirt. Either way, the pendant his sister had given him in the airport, the first thing he put on as soon as he'd closed Quatre's door, stood out in stark contrast against the forest green of the shirt he had on underneath it. It was nothing fancy, the pendant, a silver reproduction of a Roman coin bearing the profile of the great Caesar Augustus suspended on a braided silver chain. She said the coin was lucky; he was counting on it. 

            "Hope you don't mind me getting dressed in here too," Quatre said briskly, hurrying into the room and shutting the door with the slap of his fingertips, "but my sisters kicked me out almost as soon as I got out of the shower."

Trowa caught sight of him in the mirror, but whipped around when he noticed that his kindly blue-eyed companion had just gotten him back for the little display of earlier. There was Quatre, wearing nothing more than a slightly ratty pink towel (all that he could find), his fine blonde hair plastered to his skull like a heavy cap. A bead of water dripped from his chin. Definitely three buttons, Trowa decided. 

++

            The two young men finished dressing and stuff quickly, without speaking much to each other, though Quatre swore Trowa was muttering in Italian again. They hurried down the stairs together, narrowly avoiding the monstrous catfight that was taking place in the hallway between several of the sisters…neither of them could tell how many or who; it was mostly a flurry of blonde hair and sharp fingernails. Rupert was waiting in the kitchen, making out the offertory check. He glanced up at the teenagers as they strode casually into the kitchen, an impressive pair of figures. Trowa looked incredibly handsome, Quatre at his side, clad in a lightweight camel-colored sweater and corduroys the color of pale sand. He nodded his approval at the two them, sealed the check into the appropriate envelope, grabbed his keys, and then ushered them out to the garage. 

            "Goodbye, girls! I expect to see you all in church, so there will be no going back to bed as soon as we leave, do I make myself clear?" he hollered on the way out the door. There were several responses, all of them garbled but still loud enough to determine that none of the remaining Winner children looked forward to going to church. 

The three men climbed into the sleek black car, the two boys sitting in either window seat in the back, yawning and blinking owlishly. 

            "Oh, come now, don't tell me you're tired!" the mustached man teased. "You better wake up quickly, you don't want to miss a single minute of Father Marrone's sermon."

Quatre rolled his eyes. Father Michael Marrone had a tendency to run at the mouth when it came to speaking at the pulpit. He would go on for a good fifteen minutes, rambling about anecdotes that had more to do with agitating the Red Sox fans (he being a New Yorker and a diehard Yankees buff) than about the Word of God. 

Speaking of which…you're all sitting there wondering what the hell is going on, aren't you? You're probably saying, 'now wait just a minute, I thought Quatre was Muslim!' The answer, friends, is that the author has no idea what goes on in the Muslim religion, therefore, she is sticking to her guns…the Episcopal faith. If this bothers you, don't worry; this part is not going to be a lecture on theology. Church is a large part of people's everyday lives, and as this is a story about everyday life, Quatre must attend church. All right, so now that we've established that, we can proceed. Sorry for the holdup. 

The Beemer cruised along at a casual speed, Sunday Morning Jazz filtering through the speakers, alto saxophone and bass sending wild strains into the cool morning air as the bullet of an automobile cut through the low-lying fog. Rupert glanced at his passengers through the rearview mirror, smiling. Quatre and Trowa were facing one another, their knees practically knocking in the well between the two rows of seats. 

"I don't know, Trowa. It doesn't sound right," the blonde was saying. 

Trowa shook his head. "You are doing fine. Try it again."

Quatre sighed, fiddling with the seatbelt. "_Sono nell'amore con Anthony, ma gli non ho detto ancora (2)."_

            "That's right," he replied softly. "Soon you will speak Italian like a professional, and you can come visit me in Firenze after I go home."

Rupert tapped the brakes. "When do you go home, Trowa?"

            "A little after the Fourth of July. I am not looking forward to leaving, Italy is so boring compared to America."

Quatre was about to ask Trowa what it was he'd just learned how to say when the car came lurching to a halt, throwing them both forward against the seatbelts. He let out a sharp gasp as his body tried to continue going forward, but felt a strong arm fling out to the side and brace him. 

            "Sorry about that," Mr. Winner said, glaring into his mirrors. "Jackass came bombing down the road and didn't use his turn signal, almost hit us." 

The Winter Street intersection they were trying to navigate across at the time was notorious for severe and often deadly accidents. And with all of the moronic and reckless drivers there were in the world these days, one had to be especially careful when trying to proceed through a four-way such as this one. 

++

            The church parking lot was practically empty when the Winners' BMW pulled in, which left a selection of choice parking. Rupert expertly parallel-parked in a space right near the entrance, giving his passengers a smug smirk as he climbed out of the car. Quatre merely shook his head in mild annoyance, he and Trowa making their exit as well. The three of them passed through the front doors of the church, where they were immediately handed parchment-colored Orders of Worship by one of the ushers. 

            Lia ran by in a shapeless linen robe, a crude wooden crucifix banging against her chest, her dark hair streaming out behind her. "Morning! Quatre, go find Sandy, she's been looking for you!"

There was no need to move. Just as Mr. Winner left to secure a pew, an imposing blonde woman came around the corner. She was a large woman, perpetually a deep tan, and had the habit of wearing shorts year round, coupled with striped knee-high socks and clogs. She gave an almost mocking smile at Quatre, who stood there with an almost terrified look on his face. 

"Hello there, Quatre. I was wondering if you could do me a favor…but I see you have a guest with you, so I won't bother asking," the woman, youth coordinator Sandy Burdick, stated. 

Quatre shook his head. "Oh, no Sandy, we'll help out. It's no problem, right Trowa?"

            "No," the Italian boy agreed. 

Sandy looked momentarily hesitant. "Well, if you're sure…there's nobody available in Crib Care this morning at all. You two want to hang out down there? There's no church school, so if any kids show up I'll keep 'em busy in the next room, but I know there'll be a lot of little ones."

            "That's fine, we don't mind at all…you _don't _mind, do you, Trowa?"

He grinned. "I'm very fond of children, it will be fun." The large blonde raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him before Trowa genially extended a bronzed hand. "I'm Trowa Barton."

            "Sandy Burdick. You an exchange student?"

            "Yes, um, from Italy."

She nodded. "All right, then. Just keep those kids under control, I'll be around if you need me. And thanks again."

Quatre shrugged, motioning for Trowa to follow. "Maybe there won't be too many."

++

            The hallway containing the classrooms, one of the original sections of the church, was located below the parish hall. It was always cold, slightly dank, and dimly lit, the red-and-black checkerboard tile seeming to extend for miles. The whole hallway seemed like a walk on death row, the door at the very end of the corridor leading to the electric chair rather than the shed and playground out back. Fortunately, the crib care room was the first on the right, preventing the need to walk any further down that eerie passage. 

            "It's so tidy," Quatre remarked. "That'll change in about two seconds."

The room was bright, a mural of Noah's Ark spanning across the back wall in a riot of color. To the left of the door was a changing table, a rocker, and a bunk for those who needed a nap. To the right, a small table and set of chairs, a bookshelf filled with chunky wooden puzzles and storybooks, a small slide-tunnel, and a swing. A line of rocking horses and those springy activity center things stood against the back wall, facing the shelves of toys. The toys were as old as Quatre, perhaps older, and generations of parishioners had christened them with their drool. Trowa stood in the middle of the room, almost directly under the ceiling fan, and took it all in slowly. 

            "This is…we have nothing as nice as this at home."

            Before long parents began bringing their children down, babies with names that could only be found in a wealthy suburban community like Duxbury; Cammack, Bela, Jane-Ellen, Teddy, Laning. Oh, there were relatively normal-sounding names as well, but it was those yuppie names that always got Quatre. Diaper bags and labeled bottles were part of the transaction of child-to-caregiver as well, and these were all stacked up on the bunk. Quatre clipped the plastic gate to the doorframe, ensuring that none of his charges would have the ability to escape. Now it was only a matter of time before somebody started to cry. 

            "Cammack and Jane-Ellen usually cry a lot, and Teddy hits," Quatre said, setting a rosy-cheeked toddler named Maggie onto a blue rocking horse, pushing his hand down on the runner to set her steed at an even canter. 

Trowa nodded, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Then I'll have to be careful."

            The duo of babysitters chased their half-dozen or so charges around the room, acting like a pair of children themselves as they played with the kids. Most of them could walk, some of them were speaking, all of them were still in diapers. Quatre hoped God would be merciful and he wouldn't have to change one of those squirming, writhing creatures. He turned for a moment, getting Stephen down one of the chunky wooden puzzles from the bookshelf. When he turned again, Bela was handing Trowa a plastic elephant. 

            "What's the elephant say?" Trowa coaxed, making the elephant trot across the carpet. The little girl smiled. 

            "Cow cow."

            "No, elephants don't say 'cow cow,' they go like this…" and the usually quiet Italian boy proceeded to make the loudest, most obnoxious, most elephant-y sound possible. Bela squealed, clapping her hands together, grinning a gap-toothed grin. Quatre was laughing as well. 

            "What if she gives you the giraffe?" he managed to ask around his giggles. 

Trowa grinned. "Then I will be in big trouble, eh?"

               Surprisingly, no one cried more than the initial first five minutes. The kids scampered around happily; scooting dump trucks across the floor, dragging out all manner of toys, and demanding Trowa hold them. Quatre spent more time watching him than he did the babies, the handsome young man swinging someone high into the air, whirling her around until her little shiny shoes flew off her stocking feet and crashed against the wall. The time honestly seemed to fly, and it didn't help that Quatre fell asleep for about fifteen minutes, rocking a baby in his arms. Little William snuggled right up to him, the warmth and weight and the motion of the rocker putting the both of them right out. He didn't wake until Trowa gently shook him, kindly informing him that Mrs. Phinney wanted her son back.  

++

             "Well, that's the last of them. Let's clean up and go get some cake and coffee before all of those kids do," Quatre sighed, tossing a teddy bear back into the corner with the others. They jammed what toys they could onto the shelves, threw out the pictures that the little darlings had scribbled with fat crayons, hit the lights and shut the door behind them. 

            "Thanks, Trowa."

            "It was fun, like being at home with all of my little cousins again," he replied, running a hand through his bangs. "Only without my mama saying, 'Anthony, if you bounce Elena like that one more time, she'll throw up all over you!' like she always does."

They bounded up the stairs and into Sprague Hall, bypassing the kids crouching in the corner, petting Johnny Cat, the church's aged and decrepit mascot. The cat had been at the church as long as most of the parishioners could remember, found by their rector curled up in the nativity crèche a very long time ago. Lia waved a greeting from where she was chatting with her two favorite babysitting charges, Erika and Luisa. 

            "There you are!" Rupert called, strolling over. "I was wondering what happened to you two."

Quatre smiled. "Sandy asked us to help out downstairs. You should have seen Trowa, those kids were all over him."

            "They were cute…but not as adorable as Katore and William falling asleep in the rocking chair together," he quipped. "I was almost afraid to wake them up."

Rupert laughed, crumpling a napkin in his hands and glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Your sisters have gone off to French Memories for lunch, so why don't we head home? I'm sure your family's getting anxious to have you back, Trowa."

The problem was, Quatre didn't want to give him back. And if he was having this much trouble sending Trowa back to his house in Kingston, he'd die when the day came that Trowa had to go home to Italy. His heart started to hurt. 

++

            "Thank you for everything, I had a wonderful time," Trowa said, nodding to Mr. Winner and the girls as he headed towards the Noventas' waiting car. Quatre accompanied him, carrying the brunette's gray fleece blanket. 

            "Thank you, Katore. I'll see you in school tomorrow, eh?" 

            "Yeah, tomorrow, Trowa. Bye."

Their hands touched as Trowa took his blanket, and Quatre felt a jolt of something…probably static electricity. The fleece fell to the driveway, and as Trowa bent to pick it up, Quatre could smell his shampoo. Trowa had used _his _shampoo that morning…that was his personal scent on him…wouldn't that technically make him Quatre's? He'd ponder that train of thought later, he decided. Blanket in hand, Trowa gave him a brief hug and a peck on the cheek. "Bye."

            Kali and Clio stood next to their baby brother as he watched the Noventas' Escalade pull out and drive off. His shoulders were shaking. 

            "Damn, kid, you've got it bad for him!" Kali remarked. "You better hurry up and tell him before you fall all to pieces."

Clio nodded. "Mm-hmm. Because otherwise, we're just gonna have to tell him for you, and you don't want that to happen, right?"

Quatre said nothing, staring at the road blankly. Of all the people in the world to get caught up in the middle of something akin to a sappy chick flick, why did it have to be him? And what's more, if love was supposed to be wonderful, how come he felt so wretched?

            "Oh Trowa…" he sighed. "This just sucks."

++

_(1) _"I love you."

_(2) _"I am in love with Anthony, but I haven't told him yet."

Things are certainly heating up around here, huh? Question is, when the hell are these two gonna hook up? Who knows? I sure as hell don't! 

While I'm rambling, GoldenRat pointed out that "Quatre really seems to angst a lot in school fics." Yes, he does indeed. And why is that? Because teenagers angst about stuff all the time…and I should know, being a teenager in a high school setting. You should see my little sister, she has something new to angst about every day. So Quatre getting all emotional over a guy like Trowa is commonplace and certainly not out of character for the average teen. 

Next Time: Homecoming's getting closer, and the rest of the gang is about to take matters into their own hands. Wufei and Heero are about to wage an all-out gym class smackdown, and Quatre just wants everybody to piss off. Sounds like trouble!


	9. Shocker! Quatre's Hardly in This Chapter...

School's out, so that means I finally have time to work on Allegro! Hooray! The story is actually winding down, it'll probably be over in another three or four chapters but fear not! It is the first fic in a series, with all sorts of little sidefic tidbits and stuff like that. Just because the school year doesn't end at Homecoming. 

Notes: This chapter is replete with random anime references (as well as one from _The Exorcist._) They are (in no apparent order) Yu-Yu Hakusho, Rurouni Kenshin, Ranma ½ and Yami no Matsuei. I've been dying to see Yami no Matsuei, but it's only on DVD, and Lia is without DVD-playing capabilities. Damn. 

Last Time: I think 'shirtless Trowa' sums up the whole chapter quite nicely, don't you?

++

            _"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HASN'T ASKED HIM OUT YET?!"_

Lia winced, gnashing her teeth together as a chorus of very pissed off people screamed in her ears. "I know."

Duo groaned loudly, flopping back onto the floor of the theater. "He's such a fucking idiot, I'm gonna kill him!"

            "Then we should _do _something about it before it gets too late. Homecoming _is _two weeks from Friday," Dorothy stated, smoothing an eyebrow with her finger. 

            "Yeah, like what?" Nicki asked. "We all know that whatever we do, Quatre's going to flip out."

            Quatre's group of very concerned and very pissed off friends were all seated in the squishy blue chairs in the Little Theatre after school Monday. Luckily for them, Quatre was in absentia, as was Trowa. Lia had just finished telling everyone about the 'thickheaded blonde dolt's' sleepover, and they were now about ready to form a mob of angry villagers, grab pitchforks and torches and chase Quatre down until he asked Trowa out. Which, at the rate he was going, wouldn't be happening for another two thousand years or so. 

            "I say we just tell Trowa," Wufei declared. "Because Quatre obviously won't."

Relena's eyes widened. "We can't do _that! _He'll murder us for sure!"

Everyone seemed to ponder the situation heavily, frowning in deep thought and making other assorted looks of deep concentration. 

            "That's _it!_" Sally yelled in frustration, jamming her hand into her sweatshirt pocket and throwing down a crumpled wad of cash. "Everybody empty your pockets, now!"

Heero blinked. "Why?"

            "Because I'm not about to sit on my ass and just _wait _for Quatre to get up the balls to ask Trowa out. We're gonna pool our money and come up with some way to get those two together before homecoming. So who's with me?"

Everybody rummaged around for whatever petty cash they could secure. 

            "I'm broke," Lia stated, "but I'm willing to play chauffer."

Zechs raised an eyebrow. "In what? Your pickup?"

            "Nope, I just got a car…it's a '95 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera, but it's fully functional and it's got really good gas mileage. And I look incredibly cute driving it, despite the fact that it's a freaking boat."

            "All right, free mode of transportation, kickass. Any ideas on what we're gonna do with this money?" Hilde asked, snapping her gum loudly. 

The gang resumed their glazed looks of deep thought and concentration. Nothing feasible seemed to be registering, and time was certainly of the essence. Duo started whistling the Jeopardy theme song, just to be absolutely obnoxious. 

            "Aw, come on, people!" Noin groaned. "How hard is it to come up with something for two gay teenage guys to do?"

Dorothy pointed a gold-polished finger. "Hey wait a minute! Heero, _you're _a gay teenage guy! Surely you've got something!" 

Heero shook his head, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm gay, but I'm not _Quatre _gay. And I'm going to be late for cross-country practice, so I'll see you all later. Don't strain yourself thinking, Maxwell, we still have those plans for tonight."

            "Plans, Heero babe?" he asked innocently. 

Hilde cracked him over the head. "Jeez, Duo! Disco bowling? Great, I'm your girlfriend _and _your calendar. What next, your Rolodex?"

Nicki cracked her knuckles and wiggled her fingers. "Actually, disco bowling doesn't sound half bad. It's not much more than ten bucks for the two of them to pay for shoes and a string or two, right? And dinner isn't going to cost much if they eat there…though why anyone would want to eat bowling alley nachos is beyond me."

            "But I was kind of hoping for something more…romantic," Relena sighed. "Like tickets to the Boston Symphony Orchestra and dinner on the Charles."

Lia narrowed her eyes. "And cab fare, because this chauffer is _not _driving into Boston!"

            "I think the bowling alley idea is kinda cute," Sally said, curling the end of a pigtail around her finger. "Kinda cornball, but cute. Besides, the only other things going on this week are a Dropkick Murphys concert, a Celtics game, and…oh yeah, the Food Network thing at Bayside Expo. Though wouldn't it be cute to watch them get their Iron Chef on?"

            "NOT DRIVING TO BOSTON!" Lia hollered, trying very hard to reiterate what was already iterated. 

Wufei, who hadn't said very much…mainly because he really didn't give a shit, got up and left as well. "I've had enough of this. Later."

            "What about Cirque du Soleil? Isn't that coming to town for one weekend only or something like that?" Noin asked. 

Zechs shook his head. "Not until _after _homecoming. And besides, it's in Boston, and we all know Lia is…"

            "NOT DRIVING TO BOSTON!"

Duo yawned, lolling his tongue out like a wild animal. "I say just take them bowling. It'll be entertaining watching Quatre try to lift one of the bowling balls, if anything. I think the next one…after tonight's, that is…is Thursday."

            "All right, but _we're _not going," Sally informed him, tugging on his braid. "We'll just tell them that we'll all be there, and then when they get there with Lia, they'll be the only ones."

            "What am I supposed to do, then?" 

            "Play Pac-Man the whole time, because you're just there to drive them," Dorothy suggested. 

Zechs shook his head. "It won't work. Once they find out we're not there, they'll know something's up. We at least need one other couple to be there so it's a bit more convincing."

            "Great, thanks for volunteering, Zechs!" Sally cheered. "You and Noin will act as our decoys. Everybody else will have last minute babysitting jobs, family outings, and orthodontic appointments."

Nicki finished counting out the money, separating it into piles. "Okay, so we figure twenty, twenty-five bucks for the date, right? That leaves us with…um…roughly seventeen-fifty. What are we doing with the rest of this?"

            "Give it to me," Hilde demanded. 

Relena narrowed her eyes. "What are you planning on doing with it, Hilde?"

            "Buying Quatre a shirt. The boy looks like the cover model for 'Better Homos and Gardens' for Crissakes!" she complained. "I saw a great one the other day that I thought would look pretty damn good on him."

            "Sounds like a plan," Duo declared. "Speaking of which…we shall now commence Operation…um…aw shit, somebody have a clever codename for this?"

Dorothy sighed. "Just forget the codename, Maxwell. But if anyone breathes a word of this to Quatre or Trowa, you're dead meat, understood?"

++

            Quatre walked into the locker room, rummaging through his backpack for the clean gym clothes he'd thrown in there somewhere. Heero already had his shirt off, exchanging it for a loose, comfortable green tank top and a pair of black running shorts. 

            "Morning, Heero. Are we changing units today?" he asked, stretching. 

Heero nodded. "Yeah, power walking. I'll bet the mosquitoes will be bad."

Wufei sauntered past, tightening his ponytail as he walked. "Jackass."

            "Son of a bitch," Heero replied, flipping him off as he tightened the laces on his yellow running shoes. They were ugly shoes, but his father had brought them from a department store in Tokyo, so they had sentimental value. Quatre shook his head, staring at Heero after Wufei had passed. 

            "I don't know why you two hate each other so much," he remarked. 

            "We don't hate each other," Heero corrected. "We just have a very healthy rivalry. That, and Wufei thinks that I'm a 'dishonorable queer.' He comes from a long line of tightwad homophobes."

He nodded, fixing the laces on his own shoes. "Still, I wish you two wouldn't fight so much. For two people who are supposed to be friends, you have a real funny way of showing it."

            Heero smiled, not much, but enough to show Quatre that his comments were appreciated. "Come on, can't keep Old Lady Maynard waiting."

            On the days that the gym units switched, class was shortened by about half an hour. This was due to the fact that the teachers had to exchange cards. You see, rather than keeping grade books, each student in a particular period had a little card, upon which grades could be recorded for a particular day and unit. When the units changed after five classes, the students' cards were given to the gym teacher in charge of said unit. In this case, Heero and Quatre's cards were taken from Coach Frye, who had been in charge of archery, and given to Ms. Maynard, the power-walking teacher. Then there were the fifteen obligatory minutes reserved for attendance taking and the usual warm-up stretches. After that, the classes separated and headed off to their designated areas. The power-walking group, comprised mainly of those who didn't give two shits about gym (and Heero, Quatre and Wufei because a walk in the woods far outranked playing basketball with a bunch of pimply freshman…though it was really because the other unit rosters had been filled), headed out onto the cross-country trails in the woods behind the school. 

            The students were encouraged…more like ordered…to keep pace, otherwise, they would lose class credit. Heero and Wufei had no trouble maintaining a brisk walk as the spry woman in her polyester running suit took them over roots and across bogs. Quatre had to halfway sprint to keep up with them, fearing that they would bicker the whole way. 

            "This part of the woods looks like that bamboo forest from _Crouching Tiger. _I feel like having a stylized wire-fight right about now," he observed. 

Wufei shook his head. "That movie was ridiculous. It was a mockery of Chinese tradition and complete blasphemy in regards to fighting techniques."

            "I happened to like it," Heero replied. "It was one of the first movies all three of us agreed upon seeing. Duo and Hilde just don't appreciate the more highbrow films."

Quatre sighed. "Don't remind me, I still can't believe he made me sit through _Zoolander _with him. I didn't even think it was funny."

Wufei snorted and quickened his pace, hoping to outrun the Japanese boy. Of course, being the cross-country ace that he is, Heero was nearly impossible to lose. Quatre was flat out running to catch up, and the dark-haired young man in green slowed down so as not to leave him back with the pot smokers. They could both smell the putrid stench coming from down the trail as the black-clad druggies lit their joints. 

            "How are things going with Trowa?"

            "Not well," Quatre replied sheepishly. "My craven cowardice is mucking things up again. I really like him, Heero, and I actually think that he might like me back, but…"

            "You don't want to take the initiative for fear of rejection. I've been there. When it came down to it, I wasn't going to ask Duo out. I didn't talk much freshman year."

            "You don't talk much now!" Wufei retorted. 

            "Wasn't talking to you, Chang."

Quatre rolled his eyes. There they went again. He was seriously considering adding earplugs to the list of things to bring to gym next class, along with a bottle of bug repellent, the mosquitoes were in full force, as were the little tiny gnats, hovering in thick black clouds. 

            At least Ms. Maynard was far enough ahead not to hear them. That, and her ears were being assaulted by the ongoing blithering of a particularly obnoxious special needs student. Quatre didn't want to be unkind to the girl, it wasn't her fault that she was mentally handicapped, but she _was _rather annoying. Heero and Wufei were striding at an equal pace now, trading insults in one of their native tongues. Since Quatre was able to pick out the word 'kuso' every now and then, he determined today's shouting match choice was Japanese. 

            "Knock it off, you two," he said, sighing in annoyance. Instead, they continued, their verbal sparring turning into a small-scale martial arts battle. Quatre was getting more pissed off by the moment, wondering which would happen first: Maynard catching them and giving the two of them detentions, or one of them getting knocked to the ground by the other. In the sheer _Rurouni Kenshin-_ness of the moment, Quatre grabbed the nearest stick and came charging at them. 

            "Hiten mitsurugi style!" he cried, thumping the both of them on the back of the head with his reverse-blade stick. The both of them stopped and stared at the slightly crazy blonde. Heero started laughing, Wufei merely shook his head and kept walking. 

            "Come on, Quatre-chan the Battousai. I think I rue the day I ever got you watching that," the Japanese boy chuckled; ready to finish off their walk and head back to school. 

_Well, _Quatre thought, _you've always wanted to do that. Check one more thing off the list of really weird things that you've always wanted to do. _

++

            "He's _gay, _Trowa. He's wicked gay," Duo said, popping another forkful of the school's macaroni and lumps into his mouth. Actually, the macaroni and cheese was supposed to be one of Silver Lake's better meals. Trowa shook his head. 

            "No, no, he had a girlfriend named Maya. He dumped her when things started getting rough, but it's true," the Italian replied, poking at his salad. 

            "Come on, Trowa. He reeks of roses and wears more pink than Quatre does. I'm telling you, he's gay. Why else do you think people mistake him for a girl?" 

The green-eyed boy shrugged. "There have been others who get mistaken for girls and it does not affect their masculinity. I don't think he's gay, Duo. Maybe bisexual…"

            "All right, _maybe _bi…but definitely leaning more towards guys!" 

Hilde and Lia slid into chairs at the table as well. "Who's leaning more towards guys?"

            "Kurama," Trowa explained. 

            "Oh," Lia answered, unpacking her little blue lunchbox. "He's wicked gay."

Duo crowed triumphantly. "See? Told you so!"

Hilde unwrapped her Crispy Chicken sandwich, shaking stray sesame seeds off of the bun. "Great, so you're the almighty master of _Yu-Yu Hakusho, _whoopee. Oh, I got the shirt, you guys."

            "Yeah, what's it look like?" Lia asked, holding her bottle of water away from the table as she opened it. Occasionally the little pint bottles leaked when she unscrewed the white plastic cap. 

Hilde chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Black…with a little girly Ranma doing a flying kick across the chest. Was gonna get him that P-Chan one that Ephraim had in that episode of _Everwood, _but they were out."

            "Ranma's fine," Duo remarked. "You know, girly Ranma kind of looks like Kurama…who's _GAY!"_

Lia shook her head. "Let it drop, Duo. I assume you've been pestering Trowa about this for most of lunch, am I right?"

            "All I said was that the Cartoon Network put the show on its primetime lineup, and he starts," Trowa commented. "To be honest, I'm pretty sure Kurama is gay as well, but I haven't argued with Duo yet, so I wanted to experience it for myself."

Hilde laughed, trying hard not to shoot Coke from her nose. "Trowa, you're awesome!"

The conversation hit a lull at that point, the three Americans heartily complaining about some rumor Duo had heard. The threat that Lia's one and only boyfriend, whom she dated back in the seventh grade and was dumped by after he suffered head trauma, was returning to public school after failing out of Boston College High had been batted around for several years now, but it had just resurfaced. Trowa really had no place in the discussion, which led to his drifting off into his own thoughts. Everything in his mind kept cycling back to the past weekend, how strange Quatre's family seemed to act around him, how strange _Quatre _acted around him. The game of Truth or Dare, the kiss goodnight, the kiss good morning, the shower incident…Trowa's thoughts came to a grinding halt at the shower incident. 

"He's not getting the message," he muttered in Italian, nudging a garlic crouton around in the plastic salad container. "I'm starting to think he's not interested in me, but if he isn't, then why did he kiss me? Katore, if _you _don't say something, _I _might just have to."

"Hm? Did you say something, Trowa?" Hilde asked. 

He blushed, shaking his head. "No, no. Just thinking to myself is all."

She nodded pertly, but noticed out of the corner of her eye that Duo was mouthing something to her. One word, two syllables. She smirked. 'Quatre.'

++

            Madiha and Amyra were home when Quatre got home Tuesday afternoon. The other girls had afternoon sessions at college. Iria was in her senior year, Clio and Kali in their junior and sophomore years, respectively. All five of them had gone to local schools, the youngest two at Bridgewater State, Iria at Tufts, the other two at UMass Boston. Quatre planned on going out of state, and as far away from his family as he could go without having to change time zones. 

            "Hey Quatre," they said as he stumbled through the door, tangled in his bookbag again. "How was school?"

            "Fine, no homework. I think I'm going to take a walk, and then crash on the couch for a few hours, I'm tired. Gotta stop staying up so late reading Lia's stupid fanfics. If I'm not reading one of her eyeball-busters, it's another ridiculously long one that she's sent the link to," he sighed. 

Madiha shook her head, dipping her finger into the bowl of cookie dough she and Amyra were supposed to be making into cookies. They'd consumed half the raw contents of the bowl already. 

            "So wait, you're staying up late reading multi-part stories? Why don't you just save the rest for the next day?" she asked. 

Quatre shrugged sheepishly. "They get really good, and I can't stop until I know how it ends…unless it's a cliffhanger. I hate cliffhangers."

Amyra whacked her sister's hand with a wooden spoon, trying to dole out even lumps of dough onto the cookie sheet. 

            "How's the conquest coming? You capture any sizzling Italian hearts yet?"

The blonde boy froze, his aqua eyes going very wide, though his expression was one of raw, Incredible Hulk-like fury, not one of shock. 

            "Why won't everybody just leave me alone?!" he exploded. "Trowa is nobody's business but mine! I wish everyone would piss off and stop bothering me about him!"

The metal teaspoons the girls had been rationing off cookie dough with clattered to the Pergo floor, jaws accompanying them. Any minute now Quatre's head would be doing a three-sixty spin and he'd be throwing up projectile pea soup. 

            "Did something happen in school?" Madiha hazarded, slowly bending to pick up the dropped spoons and wondering if she should offer him the dough-covered eggbeaters as a peace offering. 

            "No, but everybody keeps asking me if I'm going to ask Trowa out and I'm getting sick of it! I want people to just leave me alone. I don't even know if he's gay or not, or if he's got a boyfriend waiting for him back in Florence! Maybe I'm just some cute little American he can play with while waiting to get back between the sheets with Paulo!" 

The two sisters exchanged looks, grimaces, and gulps. Amyra cleared her throat. 

            "I'm sure you're just overreacting. You're tired, you haven't felt well lately. Why don't you skip the walk and go chill out? We'll bring you some cookies if they ever get done, just completely take your mind off everything. Go watch one of your silly Japan-o-shows or something…maybe that neat one with the whaddyacallits? Shimenegami?"

            "Shinigami," he corrected. "You mean _Yami no Matsuei? _I think I'd get more depressed watching it. They're hot, they're gay, and they've got far better love lives than I do, and I'm real. I'll probably go fall asleep trying not to watch _Johnny Bravo _again. See you later."

            The young women exchanged looks again as he trudged out of the room. There was no doubt in their minds that their baby brother was suffering from acute lovesickness and depression due to said lovesickness. They wondered if there was some sort of over-the-counter drug they could give him to perk him up, or if they'd have to get a prescription. Maybe put him on hormone therapy. 

            "Maybe just get him a boyfriend," Madiha said out loud. 

            "We'll have Kali call Duo when she gets home, get all the dirt out of him. Maybe he and the rest of Quatre's friends are going to do something about him. Poor guy's in such a rut."

The eldest Winner nodded. They'd always taken good care of their brother in the past, supported him, encouraged him, believed in the choices he made. But it seemed like this time there wasn't anything they could do to help him. 

            "Damn, Madi, this sounds like straight from the pages of your average trashy Harlequin romance."

            "Yeah…hey, I heard Borders is doing a two-fer on Harlequins going on through Saturday. We better restock!" 

++

            Wednesday morning, and the final stages in Operation…No Operation Codename Decided But It's Get Quatre To Ask Trowa Out Anyways Plan, as Duo dubbed it during a late night chatroom session, were being put into motion. It had been decided that Nicki should be part of 'Alpha Team,' the group to accompany the awkward couple to the bowling alley…mostly so Lia wouldn't be stuck by herself, since Zechs and Noin would probably be necking on the parquet rather than sitting with her and her greasy nachos waiting for the 'magic' to happen. Everybody else was part of 'Go Team,' waiting patiently next to the speakerphone at Heero's for Nicki to phone them with the news. 

            "All right, so now we've just got to make sure Quatre and Trowa are free for tomorrow and we're in the clear," Sally declared. 

Relena examined her fingernails. "Isn't this a little short notice? Shouldn't we have asked them about this, like, Tuesday morning?"

            "Oh well, can't go back and erase time," Hilde sighed. 

The first bell rang, and a few people got up and gathered their books and backpacks, ready to make the ten-minute scramble across the building to class. Lia walked a little ways with Wufei, as they were both headed to the computer wing. 

            "Is that Desktop Publishing even worth your effort?" he asked. 

            "Nah, it's a complete waste of time. I end up finishing my assignments early and spending the rest of the period fooling around on the Internet. But it's fun, and there's some funny people in my class," she replied. "So, Wufei, what do you think about Sally's great date plan?"

            "She hasn't stopped talking about it. All I've heard for the past few days is how incredible it will be and how smart she is for coming up with such an ingenious scheme."

Lia giggled. "I just hope it works. I mean, wouldn't it be awful if we go through all of this trouble to come up with this plan, and then Trowa doesn't even…"

She stopped mid-sentence, immediately wishing to sink her teeth into her tongue and cut it in two. Wufei's mouth hung open like fresh tuna on display at a sushi bar. 

            "Trowa doesn't what? And what plan?" a suspicious but friendly-sounding baritone asked, voice thick with an Italian accent. Lia stared up through her dark bangs at a pair of mildly amused, inquisitive green eyes and the cutest smirk she had ever seen as one Trowa Barton stepped out of the doorway he'd been lurking in, one of the art rooms. Two words came to mind for the Chinese boy and the girl of Irish, Armenian, and Canadian descent. 

            "Oh shit."

++

Cliffhanger! Whoo! Looks like my big mouth has gotten me into trouble once again. I'm good like that. What are we gonna do now that Trowa's in on the plan…or at least informed that there is a plan?

Next Time: Trowa becomes part of the Rat Pack, and the big Disco Bowling date! Ladies and gentlemen, we may _actually _see somebody ask somebody else out here! (And I can guarantee it's not going to be Lia and Nicki.)


	10. Strike! Quatre Finally Asks Trowa Out!

I know, I promised I wouldn't take so long with chapters. But I had a really busy summer! That, and I've taken to writing Yu-Yu Hakusho stuff lately. Mmm, Kurama. Anyways, to make up for my serious drought over here in the land of the Gundams, this chapter is extra-long. Grab a sandwich, it might take a while. 

Last Time: The gang came up with a great and top-secret plan for getting the guys together. Too bad Trowa found out. 

++

"Trowa doesn't what? And what plan?" a suspicious but friendly-sounding baritone asked, voice thick with an Italian accent. Lia stared up through her dark bangs at a pair of mildly amused, inquisitive green eyes and the cutest smirk she had ever seen as one Trowa Barton stepped out of the doorway he'd been lurking in, one of the art rooms. Two words came to mind for the Chinese boy and the girl of Irish, Armenian, and Canadian descent. 

            "Oh shit."

Lia clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes as wide as they could humanly go. Wufei turned an unusual shade of maroon, balling up his fists as though he were ready to thoroughly wallop the girl. 

            "Kisama, can't you keep your big mouth shut for once, you goddamn onna?!"

She whipped back her hand, slapping the black-haired boy in the forearm as hard as she could. Finger-shaped red marks blossomed on his fair skin. 

            "Me?! You're just as guilty, jackass!" 

            "Well, you were the one who brought it up in the first place!"

            "Only because I didn't think Trowa would be standing right there! You could have said something, you know!"

            "I didn't know he was there either, bitch!"

Trowa cleared his throat, though the sound was lost in the din caused by the five-minute bell buzzing overhead. He wasn't quite sure why Lia and Wufei were screaming at each other, or really what they had been talking about. 

            "I am still standing here," he announced after a few moments more of their bickering. Two dark-eyed glares impaled him against the wall. "And I want to know what is going on."

Wufei sighed. "Dorothy's going to murder us."

            "I dunno, maybe it's better if we told him. That way if this doesn't work out, then we haven't made complete idiots out of ourselves."

            "Oddly enough, onna, I concur. But if we don't get going, we'll be tardy, and I do not want such an indignity tarnishing my perfect record."

Lia rolled her eyes and made faces at him from behind her back. Trowa chuckled at her. 

            "Okay, Trowa, 'Fei and I have to get to class, but I promise a full explanation. Meet me here at the end of the period, we can talk on our way to Latin."

Trowa nodded. "Agreed. And you had better tell me."

++

            Ninety minutes flew by faster than Lia had hoped. She'd been praying for the past thirty-five that something would happen to delay the period, anything. Bomb scare, water main break, fight, rampaging farm animals…and then when that didn't seem to come about any time soon she started praying for the absolutely absurd. 

            "Please, please let demons come and wreak havoc upon our hallways. Or Godzilla…just so long as I don't have to talk to Trowa."

            No dice. Sure enough, he was standing outside the classroom at the end of the period, trying to rub off the charcoal streaked across his palms. He smiled, falling into step with her as they weaved through the flow of the greater student body. 

            "You are going to start talking now, right?" 

She gulped. "All right, but you have to swear not to tell Quatre. I'm serious, Trowa. You tell Quatre, and you're going back to Italy in a tuna fish can."

            "I won't tell him."

            "All right. So, um, what do you think about Quatre?" the brown-haired girl asked nervously, fiddling with a backpack strap. "Don't freak on me or anything, but everybody knows you kissed him the other night."

            "I would be insulted if you had not been told. I like Katore, a great deal. There is nobody at home who is quite like him. He is always so…well…"

            "He's Quatre. That's the only way to describe him. I should know, I had the biggest crush on him a couple of years back. And we're all quite aware of how much Quatre likes you…hell, he's been beating the shit out of himself over it ever since you got here. So…um, since Quatre's too chicken to ask you out, and Relena swears that it's proper form for the American to ask the foreign exchange student out rather than vice-versa, we all put our money together to take you guys out on a surprise disco bowling date. We were hoping that maybe it would be enough to get him to tell you how much he likes you."

            "You…and Wufei and Duo and the others? You have been plotting to send Katore and me on a blind date?" he asked softly. 

Lia nodded, sidestepping a large wad of gum in the middle of the floor. "It sounds sneaky and devious and extremely stupid of us, I know, and I'm sorry…but…"

            "Lia, _potrei baciarlo…ma non._"

She blinked. "Um, no hablo Espanol?"

Trowa laughed, running his hands through his bangs. "I just said that I could kiss you, but I won't. It is a fantastic idea, tell me what I need to do to help out, and I will do it."

            "That's great! Oh, and one more thing. Quatre said you taught him to say something Italian. What'd you teach him?"

He laughed even harder, tears pricking at his visible eye. "I taught him to say that he was in love with me but hasn't told me."

            "You sneaky bastard! That's so mean! I love it. All right, so there's one final planning meeting after school today, in the library courtyard. Meet us there, okay?"

            "Sure. Oh, and Lia? Do we have a vocabulary quiz today?"

Her expression went from one of sheer delight to one of sheer horror in seconds. "SHIT!"

++

            Quatre couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched Trowa walk into Latin with Lia. He knew she'd never try and scoop a crush out from under him…it had happened to her too many times in the past for her to ever think of doing it back to someone. But still…it just didn't sit right with him, the way they were laughing. 

            "No, I'm serious! I start making up obnoxious songs when I'm trying to study. It doesn't help me at all, but at least it's more fun that way," she was saying as they stowed their bags under and around their desks. 

            "Perhaps I should try that," Trowa replied, sliding out a deck of flashcards and whipping through them quickly. "Good morning, Katore."

He plastered on a bright smile. "Hi Trowa! I haven't seen you much this week. Been busy?"

            "Yes…painting. A lot of painting. The Noventas finally decided to fix up the room I have been staying in, and they decided to paint the walls…so they are not pink, you know? So they have asked me to paint a mural on one of the walls. It has taken up a lot of my time lately. But, ah…" he glanced at Lia, who grinned and gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up. "I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night. Lucrezia and Nicki convinced me to go bowling with them, and I was hoping you would come too."

            "Is it just Nicki and Noin?" Quatre asked. 

            "Well, and me, and Zechs," Lia piped up. "We haven't heard a lot from anybody else yet, they're checking their social calendars still, I think. I can pick you up on the way. Oh, Hilde, hey, we were just talking about you! You and the menfolk coming bowling tomorrow?"

            Hilde gaped at Lia in horror. This was so not part of the plan. She threw a desperate glance at Sally, who'd just returned from the candy closet. 

            "Hey Sally, what's this Lia's talking about? Bowling tomorrow?"

The blonde senior mirrored Hilde's look of incredulity. The plan had just been shot down and killed. Lia glanced at Quatre before exaggeratedly mouthing 'Trowa knows.' 

            "Oh, yeah, you didn't hear. Noin's been itching to get all of us together for disco bowling, and I guess she and Nicki are coordinating this little function. Y'know, I'm still trying to herd Wufei into going."

            "So _that's _what Heero was saying the other day, okay, now I gotcha. I dunno if I'm going either, I thought I might have a babysitting job. Or maybe it's my turn for a Duo-date."

Trant leaned over his desk. "Schbeiker, is he ever going to choose between you and Heero?"

            "Probably not, Trant," she answered. "Hey, which definition are we going with for 'iam?'" 

            Latin class came and went, and Quatre had the sneaking suspicion that all of his friends were avoiding him. He was pretty sure he hadn't gotten leprosy overnight, and he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to singularly piss all of them off. It was strange, and it was starting to bother him. He brushed past the cluster of girls, who were whispering as they stood in their little coven. 

            "What was I supposed to do? He heard me and Wufei, so I had to get him in."

Sally nodded. "It's all right, you just threw us for a loop there."

Hilde cocked her head, then rolled it, making disgusting snapping noises as the joints popped. "Oh well. You never were one for covert operations."

            "Just don't let Dorothy kill me, okay?"

Things only got weirder as the day progressed. Wufei was strangely silent, not even bothering to pick a fight with Heero. Duo said absolutely nothing during choir, only shooting sneaky glances to anyone who would meet his eyes. Ms. DePasqua was once again in absentia, leaving the students with a study hall. The girls were all huddled around, laughing and talking about something or other, and the guys were sleeping, for the most part. Quatre leaned over one of the theater chairs, resting his chin on his arms. Trowa was completely oblivious, long legs stretched out, earphones in, CD player cranked on high.

"What're you listening to?"

The brunette didn't move, totally ignoring the question. Quatre frowned. 

            "Trowa?"

Nothing. Not even the hint of acknowledgment. The blonde boy sighed heavily and went back to watching the pixilated footage of the school's production of _HMS Pinafore. _Trowa felt miserable. He could hear Quatre perfectly well, but had to play his part. He was terrible at keeping secrets, and were he to open his mouth, he probably would have confessed to everything. But he had to admit, Quatre looked rather adorable all sulky and brooding. 

++

                "All right, let's hurry up and do this," Relena demanded. "I have to meet my tutor in twenty."

Dorothy raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Relena Darlian? Receive help from a tutor? Since when?"

            "Since he was that really hot guy from the cross country team."

Duo shook his head, braid whipping to and fro. "Should have seen that one coming."

The glass door leading from the library to the sunny courtyard opened, and all eyes flew to it. Trowa casually strolled in, letting the door slide shut behind him. 

            "Oh God, what's he doing here?" Noin hissed.

Wufei shot a smoldering look across the bench at a certain cowering brunette girl. "Somebody blabbed."

            "Did not! You're equally guilty!"

Heero made a face. "I'd believe that. You have the look of somebody not quite wholly innocent, Chang."

            "Screw you, Yuy."

            "Sorry, I've already got that one covered," Duo retorted.

Zechs stood. "Enough already! This meeting isn't going anywhere! Everyone just sit down and shut up, all right?"

Mouths were instantly shut and those who had not found a place at one of the benches or the table did so quickly. 

            "Disco night is tomorrow, so we all need to be sure we know what we're doing," Sally detailed. "Lia, you're picking the guys up, right?"

            "And me," Nicki added, embellishing the 'Gould Sucks' written on her IMP binder. "Trowa's coming over after school tomorrow. We have a score to settle, he and I."

He rolled his eyes. "I beat her once at Dragonball Z Budokai and now she thinks she has to prove something."

            "Good. Somebody invited Quatre, right?" Sally continued. "Did we get an answer?"

Hilde nodded. "He said he would while I was trying to remember the definition of 'metuens.' What does that mean anyways?"

            "Beats the hell out of me. Zechs and Noin, do what you always do…screw around and be completely oblivious to anything else that's going on. Heero, you remember the code, right?"

Duo had a blank look on his face. "Code? What code are we talking about?"

            "Well, we can't just have Nicki calling us in the middle of the date and blatantly saying it's bombing," Dorothy stated. "It's a serious faux pas."

            "If it sucks, she calls and asks for a small, hold the anchovies," Relena said. 

Noin spat her gum into a piece of paper. "If things are going well, she calls and asks to preorder a copy of Harry Potter five."

            "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Which one of you idiots came up with that?" Wufei snarled.

Heero glared at him. "I did. Got a problem with it?"

Lia tipped back in her chair, folding her arms behind her head. "Mm, just another day with Heero and Wufei. Who needs an episode of Yu-Yu Hakusho when you can get your daily dose of insults right here?"

            "Ah, what am I to do?" Trowa inquired. 

Everyone looked at one another, no one entirely sure how to answer. It was Duo who finally came up with something.

            "Flirt like you've never flirted before, my Italian stallion. Especially while Quatre's bowling. The boy cannot bowl to save all of humanity. Lick bowling balls if you have to! We've come down to the point where if you're not disgustingly and blatantly obvious, then we've proved that Quatre needs Coke bottle thick glasses."

Trowa nodded. He wasn't sure if he could pull something like this off, but he was getting desperate. He needed to know if Quatre really and truly liked him the way all of his friends insisted that he did. And he needed to know fast. Time would tell, he supposed.

++

            Amyra yelled down the stairs Thursday afternoon, completely catching Quatre off guard. "Hey, there's some white shitty grandma car in the driveway!"

He put down his pencil and closed his history book. There was only one person he knew who owned a shitty white car, and she drove a Toyota. Lia came bouncing up to the door, a black Ranma shirt in hand.

            "Hi! Did you see my new car? It's cool if you didn't, you'll be seeing it soon enough. Here, this is for you. You still have those khakis we bought, right?"

Quatre felt his head start spinning. "Mind slowing down, Speed Racer? What are you doing here, and why are you handing me strange t-shirts?"

            "Duh, it's disco bowling night! I've got to help you get ready!"

            "Lia, your younger sister helps you get ready for stuff. Why are you helping me, exactly?"

She slapped her palm to her forehead. "Numbskull! Aren't you forgetting? Trowa's going to be there! You want to look nice for him, don't you?"

He gave her a condescending gaze. "Lia, Trowa would think I looked nice if I was wearing a paper bag."

            "Oh, how quickly we've devolved into not needing me. What happened to begging for my advice? Hmmm?"

            "It got jettisoned, along with my tolerance for humanity. I'm sick of everyone trying to matchmake me with him."

Lia resisted the urge to wince. "Well, at least put the shirt on. Hilde bought it especially for you, and you'd be hurting her feelings if you didn't wear it. And maybe put a little gel in your hair, get it to do that scrunchy tousled thing that looks wicked hot."

            Ten minutes and an eyelash curler later, they were out the door, rattling down the pothole-pocked Route 27 in Lia's new (previously owned, slightly dented, reeking of old lady) Oldsmobile. They swung into a cul-de-sac, smoothly pulling into a driveway. 

            "Hey, what's going on?" Nicki asked as she claimed shotgun, Trowa riding in the back with Quatre. "Ready for disco-rama?"

Lia shrugged. "Guess so. Don't think many of us are showing up after all."

            "Their loss."

            Trowa looked his usual jaw-dropping standing-in-a-puddle-of-your-own-drool hot. He managed to pour his tall, lithe figure into a pair of absolutely scandalous Hershey's chocolate brown corduroys, complimenting them with a cowl-neck sweater in lighter khaki, green, and pale pink. All in all, he screamed 'every gay boy's wet dream.' Whereas Quatre was wearing his little black Ranma shirt and the khakis he bought with Lia, which exuded 'trying hard not to look so flamboyant.' 

            "Katore," the Italian practically purred. "You look good."

            "Damned if he doesn't smell good, either," Lia muttered to Nicki in the front. "Nicked a little of my dad's best cologne for the occasion. The imported from Bermuda stuff that's like twenty-five bucks for an ounce."

Quatre coughed. "Um, you look…you look incredible."

            "Thanks," he replied, licking his lips. His eyes were practically smoldering. Quatre tried hard not to start panting, feeling his face burning with a blush.  

            Trowa examined his hands. "I still have paint on my fingers. Nicki, how many times would you say I've washed my hands today so far?"

The auburn-haired girl shrugged. "Maybe three, four times. You even used that really good soap that's supposed to take everything plus a layer of skin off, didn't you?"

He nodded, sticking a green-tinged finger in his mouth, trying to suck the paint off. Had Quatre not been securely belted in, he might have fallen over. 

            Lia swung the car into a parking space, frowned, backed up, and straightened the behemoth Oldsmobile out. It was still crooked, but it was a better job than the first attempt. "I think I see Zechs' Caddy."

Quatre rolled his eyes. "Who in their right mind gives a teenager a Cadillac?"

            "Your dad," Nicki suggested. 

            "He hates Cads. If he even gives me a car when I get my license, it'll be a piece of shit just like my sisters. Probably a used Mercedes, maybe an old Jag."

            "Brat," Lia declared, sticking her tongue out. 

            The inside of the Kingston Candlepin was dark, the multicolored strobe lights already flashing, the bass riffs of "Disco Inferno" blaring through the speaker system. The television monitors overhead, rigged for service as scoreboards, were awash with a psychedelic riot of color. Quatre and Trowa made their way up to the counter to pay for their string, but the stringy looking cashier informed them that they were already paid for. Quatre looked to the Italian boy for answers, but he merely shrugged nonchalantly and picked out his shoe size.

            "Aren't you two going to bowl?" the blonde asked the two snickering girls. 

Nicki jangled a pocket full of quarters. "Nope. Lia sucks too much at bowling and I've got a date with a claw game."

Lia sighed exaggeratedly. "You know those things are rigged. You're not going to win anything."

            "Hey, there's nothing wrong with trying. Oh, there're Noin and Zechs!"

The two upperclassmen sauntered over, hands in each other's pockets. Noin smiled lazily at the four juniors. 

            "Hey you guys, what's going on? Glad somebody decided to come out tonight."

Trowa smirked. "Are you ready to lose, Katore?"

            "I've been ready to lose. I'm sure Nicki's been telling you all afternoon how bad I am at bowling," he replied, requesting a lightweight ball from the sketchy guy behind the counter. Just his luck that the balls only came in Pepto-Bismol pink. 

Zechs ruffled Noin's hair with his free hand. "We'll be two lanes down from you guys. I'll be teaching Lucrezia here how to bowl like a man."

            "Bowl like a man, huh? I thought bowling like a man meant losing shamefully to a much superior woman and then trying to save face," she retorted. 

Nicki whipped out her lucky John Lennon glasses, fixing them on her nose despite the darkened room. She thrust a hand skyward with enthusiasm. 

            "Then let Disco-Bowl 2003 begin!"

++

            Quatre dropped his ball, which was still too heavy despite being touted as lightweight, into the return while he exchanged his sneakers for the clunky bowling shoes. Trowa was casually leaning over the racks, trying to select the appropriate bowling ball. He'd pick one up, hold it, put it down, and repeat the process before going back to the ball he'd held five minutes ago. He finally decided on one that seemed to glow a virulent green and orange under the blacklights. 

            "I can never get these stupid scoreboard keypads to work right," the blue-eyed boy groused, violently jamming his thumb against the screen of the touch-activated monitor. It took five minutes just to enter their names, but eventually the scoreboard was set and Trowa was easily striding up the parquet just as the BeeGees started playing overhead. The lights went wild, strobing for all they were worth. 

            "And here we go," Trowa murmured to himself, whipping the bowling ball down the lane, watching as it rolled straight and true. It veered to the right at the very end, knocking over all but three pins. He could feel Quatre's stare piercing holes through him. The blonde boy watched in rapt awe as his brunette counterpart stretched his body catlike while waiting for the ball return to spit his ball back out. He threw it again, easily picking up the seven-ten split. 

            "Your turn," Trowa informed him as Quatre rose and retrieved his bowling ball.

            "Please don't let it go in the gutter," he whispered, taking aim and letting the very magenta ball fly. It soared in a vicious beeline straight for the gutter, not a single pin tumbling to the parquet. His cheeks burned hot, and he peered over his shoulder at Trowa. He'd been sitting at the scoreboard, tapping his foot to the music, but now stood and walked over. 

            "Need help?" 

            "I'm sorry, I'm just really bad at bowling. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Trowa shook his head. "No, it's fine, Katore. My sister can't bowl either. I'll show you."

He picked up the fluorescent pink ball and held it easily in one arm, taking Quatre's hand. He slid his lips along the boy's middle and ring fingers, slipping them into the bowling ball's finger holds. Slightly dazed, Quatre took the bowling ball and held it up against his chest. He toed the line, ready to swing his arm back. 

            "Keep your arm as straight as you can," Trowa instructed in a low tone, green eyes smoky in the dim light. "It helps if you swing it as close to the ground as possible."

He stood behind and a little to the side of the blonde, mimicking the motion as Quatre drew back his arm, arrow straight. "Take aim, keep your eye on the center." They backed up, took a bit of a running start, thin-soled bowling shoes skidding on the waxed floor as Quatre threw the bowling ball. It sailed clear down the middle, careening into the pins with a thunderous clatter. Every last one of them fell. 

            "I did it…" Quatre breathed. "I did it!"

Trowa laughed, running his hand through his hair. "Yes, now keep that up and you might just beat me."

++

            Noin and Zechs glanced up from their game. They weren't really playing, not seriously anyways. More like tossing the ball haphazardly, kissing and fondling while the heavy orbs did their own thing. 

            "How do you think it's going over there?" Noin asked, slapping a broad hand away from the collar of her tank top. Zechs gave a careless shrug.

            "Looks fine to me. Thought I saw Trowa licking fingers. Might not be Duo's bowling ball tactic, but whatever works."

Noin nodded, wishing they could be done with this. She would have loved to sneak out to the parking lot and do it in the back of Zechs' Cadillac, but the bowling alley parking lot had plenty of fluorescent overhead lights. Not the most appropriate illumination when one is a teenager trying to get screwed in her boyfriend's car. Best to settle for touch-and-go in a darkened bowling alley. 

            "How much longer before they hook up, you think?" she inquired. 

Zechs clicked the light on his clunky sport watch. "Mm, give them another half hour."

The senior girl sighed, getting up to toss another bowling ball. 

++

            "Anything yet?" Nicki asked, not bothering to look up from the video game in the corner. Lia was kicking the snack machine, trying to get her box of Junior Mints out. The stupid vending machine's metal claws were firmly clutching her prize. She fished for another dollar and decided to get a bag of Reese's Pieces as well, hoping the mints would drop along with it. 

            "Trowa's doing a super job. I'd say a few more minutes and Quatre will break. Although, I'm not a very good judge of these things. Maybe you should give that a rest and see for yourself."

Nicki shook her head, clicking buttons like there was no tomorrow. "No way. I'm getting the high score and that's it."

            "Another youth of America corrupted by Ms. Pac Man. We truly are in an era of decline."

Lia watched as her Reese's Pieces got stuck inside the vending machine as well, both candies dangling by mere corners of their packaging. She started banging her head against the glass window. 

++

            The game continued, Quatre improving greatly. Trowa, however, got considerably worse as the night progressed. He shrugged it off, laughing. 

            "I shouldn't have given away my great bowling secret to you, Katore. Now you have all of my power. I think this means you have to kill me now."

Quatre's eyes went dinner plate wide. "Oh! I couldn't kill you, Trowa! That'd be awful!"

            "I suppose so. Can I get you a drink?" he offered. 

            "Um, yeah, sure. A Coke would be great, if you don't mind," he answered, getting up to play his turn. Trowa wandered off to the snack bar, a cocky little grin on his lips. 

Quatre finished his round with a seven, which was fairly good considering up until tonight he'd get a two for the entire game. He was just barely ahead of Trowa overall, and they were two away from ending the frame. 

            "Wonder what he's up to," he muttered to himself, half-listening to KC and the Sunshine Band. "Trowa's been acting so weird lately."

The Italian boy returned a minute later with a very large paper cup full of Coke and a single straw. He set it down on an empty chair, peeling the paper wrapper from the straw. Quatre eyed it suspiciously. 

            "I thought we'd split it," the green-eyed boy explained, "but this was the last straw. You can have it all if you'd like, Katore." 

The straw thing was, of course, a lie. There were plenty of straws up there. 

He shook his head. "No way, that's huge. What's a little spit between friends?"

            Trowa briefly entertained the thought of doing erotic things with his tongue and the one plastic straw, but decided against it. He was supposed to be flirting, not propositioning. He took a generous sip and handed the sweating cup off, cracking his knuckles as he picked up his bowling ball. 

            Quatre fished an ice cube out of the cup and chewed on it nervously. It was bad enough watching Trowa bowl from the chair behind the scoreboard, but from this angle, it was sheer torture. He had a clear view of that gorgeous ass in those tight, sexy corduroys, and it made his whole body twitch, as if he had a short circuit. That did it. No more hesitation. He was asking Trowa out tonight, or else he'd be walking around with a hard-on for the rest of the year. 

++

            Five minutes later, they were on the last frame. Trowa had managed to catch up thanks to an ill-thrown ball of Quatre's that landed in the gutter. With a debonair smile and a wink, the Italian pitched his ball and bowled an eight. Quatre needed a spare to tie, a strike to win it. He rose slowly, palms sweating, wishing that the song overhead wasn't "Love to Love You, Baby." Trowa brushed past him on his way to a chair and the half-finished Snickers bar sitting on it. 

            "Good luck, Katore," he whispered, running his tongue along the outside edge of the boy's ear. Quatre froze up, nearly dropping his bowling ball on his feet. He managed to stagger his way up to the lane and pitched the ball with a wild throw that seemed destined for the gutter. Ten pins fell and a red X slashed across the screen overhead. 

            "I won!" he cried, jumping excitedly. Trowa was grinning, his melting candy forgotten as he stood leaning against the computer desk. Quatre bounced his way over, eyes all aglow with the thrill of finally not sucking at bowling. 

            "Congratulations, Katore. You play a good game," the brunette said. 

            "So…do I get a prize for winning?" the blue-eyed young man inquired, staring up into those smoky emerald eyes. He chewed on his lower lip. "Hmmm?"

            "What exactly did you want?" Trowa responded, smirking. 

Quatre worried his lip a little more. "Could I have you?"

            "Me?"

            "I went on Babelfish last night and had it translate what you taught me. That was very clever of you, Trowa. And I commend you and the girls on your efforts for tonight, it was quite lovely."

Trowa's eyes widened. "You knew?"

            "It's amazing what Dorothy will tell you when she's desperate for a stick of gum."

The Italian boy's expression was that of a landed fish. He'd been played for the fool the whole time. He'd fallen for Quatre's naïve charm, only to be revealed as the naïve one himself. The little bastard. 

            "When did you find this out?" he choked out. 

            "This afternoon, right before school ended."

Trowa's eyes were smoldering. "So you let me act like a fool this whole time?"

            "You could have just said something," Quatre pointed out. 

            "So could have you," the tall young man retorted. 

Quatre grabbed his hands, lacing his pale fingers with Trowa's olive ones. 

            "I'm saying it now, Trowa. I'm sorry I didn't sooner, I was really nervous. I didn't know what to say until maybe two seconds ago," he admitted. "But I like you, I really like you a lot, Trowa. And I was hoping you'd want to be my boyfriend."

            Trowa said nothing, separating his hands from Quatre's, only to tangle his fingers in the teenager's fine blonde hair, pushing him up against the computer and kissing him hard. Quatre gasped and in that one instant, the brunette slipped his tongue inside, tasting Coke and chocolate and Quatre. Aqua blue eyes welled with warm tears under long lashes as pale, slender hands slid into Trowa's back pockets, tugging him closer. Their mouths meshed perfectly, kissing hungrily as they were consumed in flame. 

            Lia, from her vantage point next to a gumball machine, started squealing hysterically. Nicki glanced up from the game console, instantly forgetting it, fumbling for her phone while Ms. Pac Man got eaten by a pink pixilated ghost. She hurriedly turned the thing on, scrolling frantically through her presets before ramming her finger down on a button, bouncing on her feet. 

            "Hello, Yuy residence. Sally Po speaking."

            "HARRY POTTER! HARRY POTTER!" 

It was a wonder that anyone else couldn't hear the shrieking emanating from that tiny phone. 

            Trowa broke the kiss first, hand still curled in silken gold. He smiled at Quatre, who was all blush and glow, both of them breathing hard. 

            "Katore…" 

Quatre leaned up and kissed him gently. "No, just don't say anything yet. I want to make sure it's real first."

Trowa matched his kiss, though his was a little more insistent, running his tongue along his lover's lower lip. Lover. The word sent a thrill down his spine. "Oh, it's very real."

++

How hot was that? Whoo! Well, it's about freaking time those two got together. I started writing Allegro partway through my junior year, and now I'm already starting my senior year. Ah well. 

Next Time: Homecoming is a week away, and Quatre finally has a reason for going! But will disaster strike beforehand? And what's everybody's reaction now that he's _finally _hooked up with Trowa? 


End file.
